Les Français

Some years ago Lee, my elder son, took us on a day-trip to France, took us in the sense that he drove us in his car. We drove around to various well known sites from WW1, including the monument at Thiepval and Albert. Walking through a public garden in the latter town I spied a signpost indicating a gents’ toilet, pointing off to the right. I informed Susan, Sarah, my teenage daughter and Lee that I was going to avail myself of this convenience and they said they would continue in the direction they were heading but would come and catch me up in a few minutes.

I set off along the indicated path and after a short walk I saw a small wooden hut through the trees, with another sign confirming that this was indeed the building of which I was somewhat in need. It did not look very salubrious and as I approached it another man, obviously local, crossed my path with the same apparent need as myself. “Ah, good” I thought, “if I follow him he will lead me to the entrance.” So I followed, fully committed by now to my course of action. What I had not expected was that this man would walk up to the OUTSIDE of this building, unbuttoning as he approached it. I was horrified to find that the ‘convenience’ consisted of three urinals fitted, side-by-side, to the outside wall of this garden shed, with but a single, small shield to one side, but not the other, to spare my English blushes. I could not change my mind and veer away, for this Frenchman had clearly seen me and I would have appeared a complete ‘wuss’ if I had chickened out! Apart from which, I was in considerable need and the promised relief had made me even more desperate. So, I just had to brazen it out and pee in the full public gaze.

Several locals, both men and women walked nonchalantly by, just a few feet away, paying no heed whatever. I did not care too much about them either, as they were clearly used to this behaviour. What I was dreading was that my family would come down the path and I would be caught in this embarrassing situation. What made matters worse was that I was at that time of life when men begin to suffer the effects of an enlarged prostate and emptying the bladder is a long, slow process! Fortunately all was well and I was spared that indignity and was able to laugh when I told them of my predicament! As the French say, c’est la vie!