Desperate times
call for desperate measures, and also bring forth resourcefulness...

I found myself in the unhappy position of having to use a Glastonbury festival toilet that had been gathering sewage and fermenting it in warm sunshine for three days in one of the busiest areas of the site.

This was the type of toilet that you stand nearby (although not too near) for a while, watching people pluck up the courage to enter, backing out again, shoulders heaving as they retch... trying not to look, but unable to stop looking, at the glistening mounds of multi-brown hued poo which quiver all over and crawl and buzz with their own little ecosystems of flies and maggots. The floor a self-perpetuating buildup of slimy substances, some part digested and deposited by stomachs too weak for festival toilets, some simply dropped by people as they recoil in horror before running screaming away. The smell of industrial strength ammonia catching in the throat and stinging as it peels layers off the eyes and lungs.

The type of toilet that you anticipate, and take a deep breath from a safe distance, and hold it while you forcefully squeeze the pee out as hard as you can in terror at the thought that your gas exchange isn't up to standard after all that smoking and you might actually have to take a deep breath of solid toilet air.

Eventually my need became too great to consider other options, such as Billy Connolly-esque incontinence trousers fashioned crudely from my shorts and some string.

There was no question of there being any toilet paper in it. There was a fascinating array of substances (which may have included toilet paper, but presented rather differently from the usual way) and I didn't dwell too long on them as I hovered as high over the "seat" as I could without merely remaining upright and pissing on my feet, balancing precariously on the toes of one foot and the heel of the other to maximise my use of the least soiled areas of "floor", trying to ignore the distressing tickling sensation as the flies buzzed my ladyparts.

So what's a girl to do?

Men, you don't realise how lucky you are to have a penis.* This was before the invention of the SheWee, remember.

I would have actually considered wiping my flange on a fiver, if I'd had any money.

But Lo! I had an actual moment of gleeful eureka as I thought of the one item I had about my person. Hurrah for smoking!

And so it happened that I found myself grateful to be rubbing the inner piece of foil paper from a packet of Camel on my bits.**

*Actually I suspect you do.
**What, did you think I used a Rizla?***
***Of course I would, if I'd had one.
( warmfuzzies Isn't here, Thu 4 Jun 2009, 21:04, 4 replies)

This is why I always take wetwipes to festivals with me
and keep several on me at any one time
( fuck shit up the best you never had, Thu 4 Jun 2009, 21:06, closed)

So do I
now.
( warmfuzzies Isn't here, Thu 4 Jun 2009, 21:23, closed)

and
This is why I shall be from now on, I went to a three day festival around Christmas time here in Tas, Australia and had similar experiences.. by day three a toilet visit was dare worthy!

*clickys*
( Jimmer still not dead at, Fri 5 Jun 2009, 5:44, closed)

God, I clicked but I don't like this at all
Beautifully written, but far far too evocative. Bleurgh. I've tried to repress all memories of festival toilets, and I only use the stalls with the open tops, so they're not as bad as portaloos.
Sadly I couldn't find any of those at Reading 2006 and I held it in nearly to the point of rupture...
(berk, Fri 5 Jun 2009, 11:54, closed)