Toilet Stories: Number Two

PUB

Going to the loo in my local pub was often a chance to hear titbits of half conversations. But be careful when earwigging, you might hear something you wish you hadn’t. I was still pretty tender from my school days of vicious bullying, some of which continued right up until I left town at 21. Toilets can be very paranoid and isolating places.

Why do girls go in pairs? I never liked this system, I like toileting alone, in as much privacy as possible, behind a solid locked door!

(Disclaimer: I have been known to go in pairs.)

They make a handy pitstop when you’re stuck as long as they’re open of course! Toilets have become very tricky lately. Lockdown restrictions have had an impact on my planning when I go out.

CLUB

From the sticky carpet of the tacky bar to the toilets tucked away far from the dance floor, the trek was put off for as long as possible. As the strains of Colonel Abrams singing “ooh ooh I’m trapped” would fade behind you, the neon strips of the nightclub foyer and the sounds of traffic from the street would temporarily hit you as you went up hundreds of steps to the toilets!

The underwater dumf dumf dumf of the music as you shut the door, the gaggle of noises from drunk women, people being sick, people crying, people arguing. The bedlam of it all was often too much! But more often than not I was part of the noise.

The porcelain was the best for cutting up lines and snorting off, and you could hear the elongated exaggerated sniffs coming from crowded stalls, then the door would pop and seven people would pile out all wide eyed and ready to go!

Many a tryst has gone down in a club toilet.

COTTAGE

Clifton Suspension Bridge public loos, currently closed. From my photos

Pretty little old Victorian gentleman's convenience, a little run down and beaten up. Men would go in and weigh up the possibilities. There was a strict code in place, but you’ll have to ask the chaps about that.

It’s illegal to have sex in a public place for all of us, so how many can put their hands up to this? (puts hand up).

George Michael famously got arrested for “a lewd act” in a sting operation in LA in 1998. Not quite the way he’d imagined coming out, but come out he did and quite gloriously too. Disco toilet anyone? Bravo George.

Until 1967 homosexuality was still completely illegal in the UK, it very slowly altered, but it took a long time before it was properly enshrined in law. It’s a very long and complicated story. So for a time, meeting in dodgy public loos or dark parks with strangers was one way to find some fun!

People still do it now, but I think it’s more about the nostalgia.

HOMETOWN MURDER

In 1980 Robin Warren, 42, was struck as he came out of the public toilets on Castle Hill. The man held accountable for his murder was 16 a the time, he and his gang of youths went out *queer bashing*, beat him with sticks and a broken bottle which severed his jugular. He staggered for around 45 metres before dying of his injuries. The public loos were a known meeting place and the boys went out with the intention of *messing around* and had *no intention to murder* (*quotes from the offenders found in newspaper articles) as if that somehow exonerated them from their hideous crimes.

I remember the news when it happened, I was 12 years old, the town was shocked but I remember people saying horrible things too; “They deserve it, dirty pervs.” “What did he expect?” “One less” etc. I think this pretty much galvanised my sense of justice at that tender age. I often think of that poor man and how horrific that night was for him and how awful it must have been for his family and friends.

The murderer went on to become an ambulance service manager - he hid his conviction from his employers for 17 years, only being caught out when he drunk drove a stolen ambulance car into a shop. What a guy eh!??!?!

I did some sleuthing and found some more information about Robin. He sounded like a complete mensch! Born in County Down, NI, he came to the UK and was variously a childcare officer for social services, a counsellor for samaritans and gay switchboard, which he helped set up in Maidenhead. He was the convener of Windsor and Maidenhead Campaign For Homosexual Equality. He at one time worked as a camera operator for The Surrey Herald. I found this grainy picture of him in a newspaper archive when his murder was first reported.

From the same article in The Maidenhead Advertiser, 12th September 1980:

A close friend and fellow campaigner said; “He was well respected in the area, people are not only very distressed when they hear of his death, but also very angry. He was a leading light in the gay community and a person who took on the most difficult counselling cases, for instance, when someone was sacked or evicted because of their homosexuality; He always has time for people and was very compassionate and caring, He was never afraid to declare himself and his own sexuality for the eventual benefit of others.”

There was another man with him at the time according to testimony read out in court. What a horrific and terrifying night for him too.

The toilet block was knocked down shortly after.

PARTIES

The queue up the stairs, the flirting, the awkward standing around, desperate to go. I’ve been known to pee in the bath while someone else was peeing in the sink because the toilet was occupied by someone being sick. Oh the glamour!

During my rave days there were few options. Sometimes the derelict building we were in had a working toilet or two, but it wouldn’t be long before it was rendered unusable! But more often than not it was an al fresco wee, balancing on some rubble in the bushes or in a wooded area. I don’t feel great about having left a mess along with the hundreds or thousands of other party goers. We always did our best to tidy up afterwards, but the business of *business* was often glossed over a bit.

FESTIVAL

Brisfest 2012, loo queues, from my photos

The pure panic of making it to a massive row of portaloos and finding a long queue. You manage to hold onto yourself and make it through the flimsy plastic door in time, the smell hits you like a rolled up newspaper in the head! You’re prepared, and despite your desperation you pull out a wipe and clean the seat, you manage to put your bag somewhere so it doesn’t get covered in chemical toilet cleaner, disco juice and half the muddy field you’re in. The assault on the senses is put to one side as the relief overcomes you. Phew!

You have a triple A pass, which is for me a golden ticket to Nice Loosville. You flash your laminate, breach the barrier, swan about a bit, climb the stairs to the posh portacabin block, feel like you’re at a country wedding or horse trials for a minute, and then you’re reminded where you are by the conversation about who was in the bar, who’s on next, who’s who! You linger a little longer enjoying a little sit down. It’s hardly zen but it’s a few moments solitude before you launch yourself back out into the throng.

CAMPING

To be clear, I HATE camping, any sort of outdoor living gives me the shivers, and that’s largely down to the whole toilet thing. While I was able to go outside in the party years (I was fuelled by disinhibiting magic potions) I generally find the wild toilet really difficult.

Once on a trip to Cornwall in my friends bus to find a free festival we got stopped and blockaded by police so we drove back a few miles and found a nice quiet layby near some woods. And then we took another trip. As the mushrooms started to work their way through me, the “you can time it” 20 minute urge came upon me, so off I trotted into the woods with a shovel. I didn’t go in too deep (I’m scared of the dark), but far enough from the bus for a bit of privacy, that thing I value SO highly! I dug my little hole and made myself comfortable (ish). A few moments in and I could hear a distant horsey snorty sound and some gentle thudding of hooves. We were near Dartmoor so it wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility. It came nearer, I felt panicked but I was somewhat trapped by my functions. I then heard it come close by me and snort again, down the back of my neck, I could feel it, a slightly damp hot breath. I was starting to trip but it was there, I know it was! I was pretty freaked out. I ran back to the bus and told them what happened, they all laughed like drains, didn’t believe me! In the morning we went for a walk through the woods and lo and behold...ponies.

As a kid my last holiday with my Dad and siblings was a camping trip to Scotland. I don’t remember masses, I was only 8, but I do remember making friends with a family of similar ages in a neighbouring

tent, and it rained, a lot. The camping site had a toilet and shower block. I went off in the rain wearing my favourite beige flares with 8 little pockets on the waistband, through the muddy field to the block. When I got there I was panicked to find a queue, quite a big one, and not a single one of those bloody grown up buggers would let me through. No amount of hopping about doing the wee dance helped and I could hold on no more. I peed in my favourite flares. I was so upset. I ran back to the tent and thanked the rain for hiding some of my shame and my tears.

TOILET SELFIES

Since we all got tiny computers with cameras on us all the time, new trends have developed. The selfie is a BIG one. The toilet selfie is another new thing. It’s very popular among the young, pouting into the camera or using the mirror to share their moment. Mucking about with friends and capturing the mood for all time. A means of exploring dysmorphia and trying to overcome it. A quick and easy way to show family and friends how you look now. It’s a thoroughly modern phenomenon.

GRAFFITI

I was in a pub in Bristol, not long after I’d moved here. I went from the pretty beer garden, through the pub, down the stairs, and into the basement. As I closed the squeaky door behind me and read all the political, musical and heartfelt inky prose, this one stood out;

“668, THE NEIGHBOUR OF THE BEAST”.

I laughed all the way back up the stairs to meet my friends outside and when I told them, they laughed too.

There’s SO much amazing graffiti, this subject needs a whole article to itself!!!

FLUSH

A lot seems to happen in the humble little wee palace, all emotion, all types of people, all sorts of life! I’ve had my share of wild, weird and wonky times in them. To me they represent a dual purpose, sanctuary of course, but also fear. Much has been discussed lately about the use of them, bringing out the TERF in the most smart minded at times. Well, they can flush their own heads down the bog! For me though, ALL toilets should feel safe and available to all who need them. Bad things go on of course, but better jack up within a cubicle than on the street. Awful things happen, there will always be bad people doing bad deeds, which only adds to the need for them to be looked after, tended, saved! They are magic portals to closely guarded secrets, places of historical and hysterical interest, emergency bunk up rooms, or...you could just go for a wee!

Toilet Stories: Number Two

SAVE OUR BOGS!

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