I’ve never – ever – used a toilet on a Southern train. It’s just not something I’d think of doing. Which reminds me: I once did a full-time job, albeit a very temporary one, where for the whole two weeks I was there I never once used the facilities. It was, I think, firstly a fear of being caught away from my post and away from the telephone (because this was the 1980s and landlocked telephones were in frequent use then), but also the fact that, when on duty, I just wasn’t in a frame of mind where it would even cross my mind to need to go. An obvious case of mind over matter, then, but an interesting one. And one that brings me forward to 2010 and to my time on the rails. It’s not that I don’t make myself very much at home once on board, but there are certain things I don’t do. I don’t take off my shoes, I don’t sleep, I don’t apply lotions or potions, and I don’t nip to the loo. I’m strictly on duty, and I intend to stay that way.
I know of course that not everyone observes quite the same delineations between human states of mind (and body), and a quick look around the average carriage will reveal all sorts of unbuttoned behaviour that smacks of a blurring of the boundaries. That’s fine of course – though I’m as fussy as the next commuter when it comes to what impinges on my lines of sight or any other sense – but there’s a pleasure in keeping buttoned up, and it makes arrival at home all the sweeter. I step in the door and immediately my shoes feel a little too tight, my bladder needs emptying, weariness descends.
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