Your guide to not getting PTSD from using a train toilet

HAVE you ruined your train journey by needing the loo? Here’s how to use one of those coffin-sized toilets from hell without lasting damage to your mental health.

Don’t touch the inside handle

When you close the door, the handle will be wet. It could be water but you know in your heart what it really is. Close the door with your foot and flip the lock with your knee if you don’t want to wake up in the night screaming, “P*SS! P*SS! THERE’S P*SS ON MY HANDS!”

Breathe through your mouth

Don’t allow your nostrils to sample the smorgasbord of poo aromas. You could try not breathing at all, but for Christ’s sake don’t pass out and come round with your face pressed against the toilet seat. You’ll surely end up in a straitjacket in a mental asylum.

Don’t sit down

If your skin so much as brushes against the toilet seat, you won’t feel clean again unless you chop your buttocks off. Ladies may consider doing daily squats to build up strength; macho male types may just plonk themselves down, but secretly they’ll be thinking about their contaminated bottom for the rest of the day.

Don’t assume the water works

Just because your ticket cost more than your last holiday doesn’t mean you can expect running water on the train. Check the tap is working to avoid lasting memories of scraping cheap soap off your hands with bits of bog paper.

Don’t forget to press the lock button

If you miraculously find one of those big toilets with fancy Star Trek-style sliding doors that’s actually working, don’t forget to press the ‘lock’ button, or you might end up traumatising other people as well as yourself. 

Don’t make eye contact on your way back down the carriage

As you do the wobbly walk of shame back to your seat, trying not to grab other passengers’ heads to steady yourself, be sure not to catch anybody’s eye. Seeing their pity and disgust will only heighten the trauma. 

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You must never discover my truly disgusting habits, says man who lives alone

A BACHELOR who lives alone in a one-bedroom flat would prefer people did not know the full sordid details of his domestic life.

Using the pseudonym ‘Tom Logan’ to preserve his anonymity, the man has admitted to gross lapses of hygiene that would cause family and friends to disown him, possibly whilst vomiting. 

‘Logan’ said: “I have not changed my bedsheets for three years. There are bits of takeaway duck in there from 2018. Last time I washed my plates, the sink was full of black mould.

“I decided, after four years, that my face flannel needed washing, so I boiled it in the kettle. Then I got drunk, forgot about it and drank rancid, soapy tea for months afterwards.

“Then there’s my special sock. It has multiple uses – a receptacle for my frequent acts of self-abuse, a general purpose household cloth, and, once it has dried out, a sock.

“There are worse things, like the used condom under the sofa and the t-shirt once used as a toilet paper substitute in an emergency which I still wear. 

“But living alone means I get to watch a lot of football. Don’t pity me. It’s a good life, all told.”