"I had been visiting my boyfriend in London for the weekend. He was a hard-up student and I was still at sixth-form, but beer was pretty cheap in 2000, so we had been out for a few pints. Now we were racing to St Pancras so I could get the last train home to Derby. I legged it through the station and made it on to the train with seconds to spare."
"With the beer sloshing around and my bladder close to bursting, I lurched down the train and bumped into the ticket inspector. He broke the bad news: all the toilets were out of order. I sat back down and crossed my legs. The minutes crawled by. The fast train from London to Derby takes about an hour and a half, and I could have hung on that long. The only problem was, this was the slow train."
"By Market Harborough, I could last no longer. I had two choices: wet myself, or get off the train. I got off. The station was deserted, the toilets long since locked up. In desperation, I crouched down in a siding. I'll spare you the details, but the relief was immense. Once my most pressing concern was dealt with, I had new problems."
A woman visited her boyfriend in London and hurried to catch the last train home to Derby after drinking. She boarded seconds before departure but found all carriage toilets out of order. On a slow service with increasing urgency, she endured discomfort until Market Harborough, where she chose to disembark. The deserted station toilets were locked, so she relieved herself in a siding and felt immediate relief. Alone, low on money and without a working mobile, she used the station payphone to call a friend. The friend located the Travelodge and gave directions; the hotel was a short walk away.
Read at www.theguardian.com
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