mostly david ephgrave

Today, I unwittingly stumbled across the most middle-class response to a lack of toilet roll in a public convenience in Hitchin's Caffè Nero, that somehow managed to be both grim and aspirational in equal measure. The gents’ there are awkward enough as it is, consisting of just a single cubicle with a small vestibule area that's akin to a airlock with just a sink and barely anywhere to stand. Once you’ve discovered it's engaged, you feel trapped, unable to walk straight out into the coffee shop so soon after walking in, yet also feeling too uncomfortable to stay. You’re too close to the theatre of conflict, so to speak, with no way out; it’s an exercise in social embarrassment. I walked in with trepidation today, sensing before I was anywhere near that someone was already in there, about to leave me in limbo (I was right). I stood, waiting for too long in that loo lobby, from where I could hear an ominous rustling on the other side of t...

Of the many public toilets I’ve visited in my life, two stick firmly in my mind: one was in a café in Cromer and the other was on the platform at Cambridge Station. I'm sure you're desperate to hear all about them. Are we sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin. Exhibit A: You're looking at the sum total of a North Norfolk cafeteria’s gents' toilet facilities. The toilet and urinal are in alarmingly close proximity. Whoever fitted them was probably working to a prison motif. Whatever their intention, they’ve come up with a very pressured set-up; I wouldn’t be comfortable using one while someone else used the other. Having both in the same room serves no purpose, particularly when you’re on your own. It’s not like halfway through a wee you’d say to yourself, “Actually, I think I’ll finish off over there”. This sort of thing could only happen in Norfolk. Exhibit B: I haven’t used the lo...

This morning I refrained from using a public toilet, because a professional photographer stood outside taking pictures made me feel too self-conscious.   I’m aware that this isn’t a standard problem. Unless you’re me; this sort of thing tends to follow me about. I assumed he was professional because he had a tripod. He seemed too well-equipped to be a pervy opportunist. It also wasn’t very subtle; unless he was relying on the premise of being hidden in plain sight. The subject of his attention was a flat-capped man on a mobility scooter, who looked suitably nonplussed. He kept coming out of the disabled toilet while the faux-David-Bailey snapped away; it was like a modern day ‘Blow-Up’, recast for restricted access. I couldn’t work out why the man kept going in and out. Surely his movement wouldn’t show up in the picture; unless they planning to make some sort of GIF. Despite the urgent call of nature, I walked on by. Th...

I may be the first person in history to become stoned just from using a toilet cubicle. It’s worth clarifying that I wasn’t a willing participant. The choice to partake wasn't mine. This is the downside of using one of the sealed conveniences in Hitchin Town Centre: you walk into an airtight environment. Within seconds you're complicit with whatever occurred previously. So it was for me: I went in needing the toilet – and came out needing a copy of The Small Faces’ Ogden’s Nut Gone Flake. I suppose it could have been worse: I could have been confronted by a much fouler stench. There’s one thing to be said for the more unpleasant option, though: at least I wouldn’t have left with the urge to munch my way through a packet of biscuits. It must be what it would be like to step into a man-sized bong. A man-sized bong with excellent ablutive facilities. I got out of there as soon as nature would allow – but within seconds I starte...