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Aug 24, 2023

My disturbing experience in a Paris lavatory

Ross Clark I am happy to add my name to many reactionary causes, but sorry, I draw the line at trying to save the urinal from the onward march of the unisex loo. On Sunday, equalities minister Kemi

Ross Clark

I am happy to add my name to many reactionary causes, but sorry, I draw the line at trying to save the urinal from the onward march of the unisex loo. On Sunday, equalities minister Kemi Badenoch published proposals to oblige every new building to incorporate separate toilet facilities for men and women. To be fair to her, she isn’t trying to prevent architects from designing unisex facilities where every loo is in effect a little private bathroom, with hand-washing facilities incorporated – her beef is with the subtly different ‘gender-neutral toilets’, which are large rooms full of toilets and sinks which can be used by members of either sex. In some cases, these have been known to force women to walk past men standing at urinals.

Urinals are at least a little less awful than they used to be, thanks largely to Grindr

But I think Badenoch is on the wrong path. If we are going to have national standards for public lavatories and lavatories in commercial buildings, let’s ban the urinal and insist on all loos being unisex. For that half of the population that is unfamiliar with such things, urinals are bestial places. At their least-offensive – which tend to be in gentlemen’s clubs – they consist of elaborate ceramic structures with thick divisions between each standing space. More often, though, they are open bowls or simple aluminium troughs where you are expected to stand in close proximity to strangers and their todgers while you all relieve yourselves. They make a horrible racket and create a fair bit of splashback when the stream of piss hits the metal. Your kids are expected to use the same facilities – the only concession being that they might have access to a slightly lowered bowl.

Urinals are at least a little less awful than they used to be, thanks largely to Grindr. Before the gay dating app was available, a urinal was a kind of meat market for gay men. That was something I first discovered aged 15 when I snuck in a gap in the urinals in the ghastly Forum Les Halles shopping centre in Paris only to realise that the two men on either side of me were standing there proudly erect and looking down the line to see what others had to offer. The same then happened in London – in fact, even worse, since most of the clientele seemed to be waiting for something to happen: something like the events depicted in Prick Up Your Ears, the 1980s film about the life of Joe Orton, where a group of men gather in a public lavatory before one reaches up to unscrew a lightbulb and, well, you don’t see any more. For years afterwards, I literally could not use a urinal; I would clam up, which made the whole situation even worse because it sent the wrong message to others.

There is a wonderful entry on Joe Orton’s diaries where he reports of a visit to the facilities in Oxford Circus or some other such place and described with disgust that ‘just four pissers’ came in while he was there. Thankfully, Grindr has provided other opportunities for men to hook up and us mere pissers can get on with it. But even so, the urinal is a disgusting relic of another age. Let’s tear them all out and turn our toilets fully private and unisex.

Ross Clark is a leader writer and columnist who has written for The Spectator for three decades. His books include Not Zero and The Road to Southend Pier.

Ross Clark

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