The Joys of Modern Life; 59: Disabled toilets

UNTIL RECENTLY public toilets came in two types: male and female. This delineation, however unfair it may have seemed to parents with children of the opposite sex, anarchists and the "transgendered", held sway for centuries without too many problems.

But the raised minority consciousness of the last decade or so has ushered in a lavatorial "Third Way", and we now live in the era of the disabled toilet. Which is fantastic, as disabled toilets are a dream, a vision of how things could be. These blessed mega-bogs can now be found in such diverse locations as workplaces, bus stations and even pubs.

A non-disabled person myself, I confess that on those occasions when the choice is presented, I occasionally sneak into a disabled toilet. That this presents ethical issues is not in any doubt. Disabled toilets should obviously remain primarily for their target social group, and quite right too. Indeed, one should always be sensitive and only use disabled toilets when there is no danger of holding up someone for whom they are the only option.

But the fact is, rightly or wrongly, that the non-handicapped also prefer to use disabled toilets. Why? Because, quite simply, they are everything that a public toilet should be: huge, user-friendly and private. They are veritable palaces of ablution which seem to respect the user's needs.

Firstly, there is the scale. Disabled loos are ballroom-sized, big enough for a social visit. Many's the time one has observed two or more women disappear into an ordinary-sized toilet. What do they do in there? Whatever it is, they'd have more room in a disabled toilet.

In addition, they are invariably cleaner than other toilets, which is probably due to having less human traffic passing through their chrome and ceramic portals. Then again, one likes to think it is because the public has a greater courtesy for disabled toilets and their users. Because these lavatories honour rather than insult their public, they tend to be left in a more civilised state. That disabled toilets are unisex also increases the chance of cleanliness, as potential toilet abusers are less likely to risk social shame with the opposite sex.

You do not hear strangers (or colleagues) grunting in adjacent stalls, or have to read graffiti, or worry about being watched. Of course, their very size and privacy means that disabled toilets have become used for all kinds of nefarious practices. At a certain newspaper office, the disabled loo on the 15th floor has been cited on several occasions as a recognised zone for extra-marital trysts.

Which is why so many disabled toilets now require you to get a key from some operative, an action which weeds out offenders and tacitly demands proof of disablement. Sad - and, yes, fair. But disabled toilets have, in their short life, already helped to raise our expectations of that distressed civic amenity, the "public convenience".