It's all about the height...

Often at this time of year, I reminisce about the Edinburgh Festival of my student days. We took two productions to the Fringe in the late 70s. A musical version of Twelfth Night, and a theatrical presentation of The Wasteland by TS Eliot.  They were barmy, barking days rehearsing for the big event.  Newspaper publicity was part of the run-up and we were asked by the local rag to attend a photo-shoot in costume.
I  was looking at that photograph the other day. Six of us were asked on a count of three to leap in the air. Now, I have never included leaping in the air as one of my secret skills. Hardly now. Certainly not even in those gilded days of youth. So there I am, as every other of my fellows leaps in the air with gay abandon, I am firmly rooted on terra firma, bottom sticking out, knees bent as if I am an actor in search of a toilet.
So yesterday, as we investigated the best porcelain-ware that Hertfordshire has to offer, I was once more presented with the hard-to-be-resisted urge to sit on a wall-hung showroom model. I mentioned previously that our plumber is top-notch. He heeded my unspoken yearning and took us to a bathroom he had just finished renovating. There we were both able (not at the same time) to sit on a Subway. Perfection.
Do you know why? It looked quite normal, wall-mounted, but it was just a couple of inches higher than the standard height.
Dearest thought it was just an inch too high. I thought it was just right. However,  he is taller than me.
But it is something to bare-in-mind, if you are a short-arse like me....

Not totally to scale or entirely accurate..