It delights me to be able to tell you that Mrs Trellis has broken her long silence.
Dear Anglea Merkel, she writes, I have to say I agree with you that men ought to sit down to tinkle. They are such messy creatures, aren't they? The front of my husband, the late Mr Trellis, for instance, was permanently encrusted with porridge, and the lower half of him, well, delicacy prevents me from being more specifical, but I will tell you that when he took off his trousers at night, he used to stand them in the corner.
Yours in sisterly solidarity
Blodwen Trellis, Mrs, widow, retd, fastidious.