After a couple of drinks in London’s West End recently I made my way to Piccadilly Tube Station in the early afternoon where I was much inconvenienced to find that the toilets had been closed and a notice attached to them saying they belonged to Westminster Council. The Council was considerate enough to attach a telephone number and a website. I felt no compulsion to reach for a mobile phone or search for an old-fashioned phone booth to spend my pennies,or to look for an Internet cafe. I had a more pressing priority.
Public toilets are almost extinct in London. It seems that junkies used them to shoot themselves up, and other folk to shoot each other up, and that as a result the law-abiding majority must buy unwanted drinks in cafes or pubs if they want relief. And for men of my vintage such relief is short-lived. I can remember Liffey-side urinals, I think of French pattern, so designed that a chap could, with propriety, relieve himself, and have his head and feet visible to passing citizens.
Many years ago my son was given complimentary tickets for an England vs France Rugby International at Twickenham. When we got out at the station we witnessed a row of visiting supporters facing the wall by the platform, relieving themselves, whilst London bobbies and English ladies passed them by without comment.
After the match we saw serried ranks of the visitors repeating the exercise as they faced the outer wall of the stadium. Now, the French have the charming custom,each time they meet, even their next-door,neighbours, of shaking hands, and each man was shaking the right hand of his neighbour while his left was otherwise employed. I cursed the fact that I hadn’t a camera, because, if I could have captured such a moment and captioned it “Toujour la Politesse” I could have made a fortune and retired for life.
But Brexit or No Brexit, I’ll always swear that they order these matters better in France.
Have you considered the implications for the Relief of Derry?
No, nor Lady Smith.
Commandant de Wet?