A learning curve about public loos

With the simple act of looking after three young children I have learnt more about Christchurch toilets and the act (or art) of toileting during a five-hour period than I have in more than three decades of wiping my own bum.

Now everybody knows the most common question before leaving a house with children is: "Does anyone need to go to the toilet?"

Of course, Little Misses Nearlythree, Four and Five had no immediate needs so we went to a park where we played for a good 15 minutes before the needs arrived.

So we headed for out next stop at Clip'n'Climb, an indoor rock-climbing thing for kids, and made our first move, which was for all four of us, to lock ourselves into a toilet.

Miss Five went about her business quietly, Miss Four chatted and commentated on what she was up to. She then removed herself, assumed the wiping position and the pair of them left the room. Then Miss Nearlythree had her turn and vacated the throne, politely declining the offer of a wipe, even though it was abundantly clear she ought to have one.

Then I sat down but Miss Nearlythree had better things to do than wait, she was ready to join her sisters and it was difficult to explain that I didn't want the door opened to a roomful of strangers waiting to learn about Clip'n'Climb while I sat with my pants around my ankles.

But I quickly learned that the needs of a child are greater than the privacy of an adult.

We then went on to use toilets at The Press, Subway, the museum and a park. The whole routine started to become, well, quite routine. However, it came to light that Miss Nearlythree's single-mindedness in life also has roots in her ablution habits.

She refused to let me out of her sight whilst going through her motions, so I was stuck between popping out to check on Miss Four and Miss Five while Miss Nearlythree wanted to lock eyes with me while she pushed one out and then refused to let me wipe her rear.

Her self-belief in rear-end cleanliness was admirable yet misguided, because by the time I returned the girls home, Miss Nearlythree had artwork in her knickers that Jackson Pollock would have considered innovative. Don't worry about the singed underpants of bomb suspect Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab, worry about Miss Nearlythree and her knicker budget if she doesn't clean up her act in the future.

Anyway, if I had to judge their toilet habits, I would give them top marks. When one uses public toilets one realises how hard it is for the average person to go in a contained unit. We assume fully functioning adults are toilet trained, but to witness a public toilet - or for that matter a public alleyway - you recognise a good percentage of the public has no idea.

And pardon me if I'm coming across as exploitative of small children's ablutions, but I speak from a lot of sudden personal experience. I'm writing this off the back of a brief, yet explosive, bout of food poisoning that was swiftly followed by a jolly good and elongated cold that includes both vocal-cord and bowel issues.

The toilet has been my world for the past few days. I now have connoisseur status when it comes to loo paper.

By accident I'd bought three-ply, which I can assure you is not as posh as its tagline would lead you to believe. Instead it feels as though it has been starched.

This has been my anus (sic) horribilis.

I wish a Happy New Year to you all, but if you should happen to come unstuck in the way I have described above, please stick to two-ply. And don't say I haven't given you any good advice for 2010.

* Please join me on Twitter. www.twitter.com/beckeleven

- © Fairfax NZ News

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