On/In Public Toilets

On/In Public Toilets

I like to think myself something of a connoisseur of public toilets. Not in a sticking my willy through a hole in the wall manner, more in writing a guidebook of all the excellent crappers I've visited in my life.

However, there's always some bugger who lets the side down.

Where to start? Oh yes: France.

I went on a school exchange trip. One day was set aside to go with the Frog kid's dad to see where he worked. He worked at the local hydro-electric plant where he had his own workshop.

They didn't even bother to hide the toilet anywhere - it was just one of those French hole-in-the-ground jobs set against the far wall. As I set my packed lunch down on one of the workbenches, I realised my eyes were set on the old bastard crouching and straining over the hole, dropping a monster Gallic turd.

He missed.

The filthy bugger didn't even try to wash it away, and the evil, foul-smelling chocolate surprise sat there, all day, daring me to take it on in a fight.

Horrible.

But then, not nearly as unremittingly awful as those found at Douala Airport, on my transit through the Cameroon several years ago. Not even the locals would touch it, even with the shitty stick provided, even with a VIP visit on the cards.

I saw, with my own eyes, as I waited for my flight to arrive, the President of France ushered in on his way to a state visit, and retire, looking a dreadful shade of froggy green. Awful sanitary standards? Those Cheese-Eating Surrender Monkeys have so much to learn.