An Irishman's Diary

There was a certain irony about the opening this week of what were billed as "Europe's highest public toilets". I don't know what the old record was. But the new one is unlikely to be broken soon, because the toilets are on the summit of Mont Blanc. And there was a perfectly good reason for putting them there, in the form of the thousands who visit the peak every year.

Even so, the event fits a general pattern, set by department stores and other incidental providers of public conveniences, of locating them as far away from the public as possible. In Dublin's Brown Thomas - a fairly typical example - the toilets are on the top floor, above the hardware line, where the air begins to thin. Across the street in McDonald's, meanwhile, you need hiking boots to reach the recently relocated facilities, in the upper rear of the premises.

Not that Dublin, or indeed Europe, is the worst place for those who need to go in a hurry. The continental system - and here we might pause just long enough to note the different meanings of the word "continent" - where you pay at the door, might be invasive, but at least it ensures the continued existence of public toilets, and clean ones at that.

In the US, where you pay for everything else, the idea of privatised public toilets has never caught on. Instead there is unofficial privatisation, in which businesses such as Starbucks and McDonald's provide a de facto public service as the price of their ubiquity. Even then, the challenge of finding a toilet in New York at short notice was still sufficient a few years ago to inspire a sub-plot on Seinfeld, in which George invites Jerry to test his esoteric knowledge of the subject.

Jerry: Anywhere in the city? George: Anywhere in the city - I'll tell you the best public toilet.

Jerry: Okay. Fifty-fourth and Sixth? George: Sperry Rand Building. 14th floor, Morgan Apparel. Mention my name - she'll give you the key.

Jerry: Ali right. . .Sixty-fifth and Tenth? George (Scoffs): Are you kidding? Lincoln Center. Alice Tully Hall, the Met. Magnificent facilities.

The bad news for George is that the information age has since overtaken his specialised subject. Last year saw a "community mapping" exercise, in which a Korean academic set out to post the whereabouts of all New York's toilets on the internet. Like an 18th-century surveyor, he fearlessly probed the Manhattan interior to record the locations, albeit with public help and using Google Earth map co-ordinates. The results are now at nyrestroom.com.

Not to be judgmental about anyone's private life, but most of us spend our early adulthood avoiding public toilets. Then, typically, we become parents. And almost overnight we acquire a George-from-Seinfeld level of knowledge on the whereabouts and quality of the nearest convenience.

In the exciting days and, yes, years after your child graduates from nappies, the public toilet becomes one of his or her favourite places, ranking just below the ice-cream van and the playground in its promise of excitement.

Potty-trained children feel a great sense of empowerment. The knowledge that by uttering a simple word like "Wee!" they can force adults to drop everything and bring them where they want to go now is heady stuff. And if the child is impressed by the effect of the word "Wee!" imagine his excitement at the reaction when he first shouts "Poo!" - especially in a quiet restaurant.

It's a cast-iron rule that children never need the toilet at a time their parents find convenient. They never have to go before you leave the house, for example: only 15 minutes later when you're stuck in traffic. They don't need to go when you've just arrived in a café, either. But order hot food and be on the point of eating, and then, as sure as nightfall, the toddler will announce to yours and several neighbouring tables: "Wee!" When you're the male parent of a female child and the female parent is not with you, public toilets present a particular challenge. Rather than deal with that challenge, your initial instinct on hearing your daughter say "Wee!" in a public place will be to take her home immediately, even if this involves a plane journey.

Pathetically, you may hear yourself ask her if it is an "emergency". This is like answering a 999 call and inquiring if it would be OK to send the fire engines out later. Of course it's an emergency. It's always an emergency with children.

You can't bring your daughter to the gents', unfortunately, and risk her needing counselling in later life. So occasionally you have no choice but to go to the ladies', waving a white handkerchief or making other gestures to show that this is a crisis and the normal rules of engagement do not apply.

It's simpler with boys. Except for their difficulty, even in the filthiest toilets, understanding why it is you keep urging them not to touch anything except the tap water. The urinal is a thrilling challenge for a child and, generally, he will want to grip the rim with both hands to steady himself. Worse, if you take your eye off him for a moment, he is liable to hold up one of those little disinfectant tablets and announce triumphantly: "Look, Daddy - soap!" Children love exploring surfaces, and the surfaces of public toilets are particularly interesting, especially when they haven't been cleaned for a while. Another reason toilets are so popular with kids is that they often have puddles on the floor. Your child is drawn to these puddles, whether they're under the sink or around the toilet bowls, as surely a salmon is drawn to the sea.

He wants to splash in them. Maybe he already has splashed in them when you weren't looking. And you know what? He's going to be jumping in your lap in a few minutes' time - that's what. Which is why a useful hygiene tip after visiting a public toilet with your child is, whenever possible, to burn his shoes.

fmcnally@irish-times.ie