I don’t quite know how I have come to find myself in this position.  I don’t mean this position right now.  That was easy enough.  I simply slotted thirty pence (one ten pence piece and one twenty) in the entrance gate and I was admitted without further question.  I mean the position of self-designated toilet-commentator for the nation.

It started when I worked out the probability of encountering a neighbour-free urinal at my workplace; it continued when I stumbled upon the mind-bogglingly spacious toilets at Broadstairs Railway Station; and now I can’t stop myself.  I have toilets on my mind.

My latest incursion is the toilets at London Euston Station.  It may only be a temporary makeover, but the cubicles doors have been imaginatively decorated with a colourful motif of London houses, businesses and skylines; inside each cubicle the backdrop is a stylised map of the surrounding area.  The cubicles are clean and well-maintained, and the effect is… well, uplifting.

I’d like to open all the cubicle doors and see if it is the same design behind each one, but I appreciate this might be an unwelcome invasion of someone’s privacy; equally, I want to close all the doors and see what the effect of the artwork is in its totality, but I realise that by doing this I may be inconveniencing fellow commuters with more pressing demands than my own.

So, which cubicle?  Do I choose the blue house, or the orange house; the yellow house or the…?  Do you know, I’m not even sure what I’m doing in here in the first place; I don’t even want the toilet.

© Simon Turner-Tree

Simon Turner-Tree can’t decide which cubicle to choose at Euston Station.