From the men’s WC in the upstairs lounge at Galatos, distinct only in its stupidity. Compare and contrast with the swathes of delightful graffito in the proletariat’s toilet at Wine Cellar, I believe you’ll find the sharpie wielders of that fine establishment to be of a far higher calibre. (Though I confess that I’ve never dedicated myself to the epic task of capturing its grandeur, spread over at least 3 walls as it is.)