On the quest for a public loo? Only Indiana Jones could find rare porcelain treasures.

On the streets of Dublin last week, as the crowds gathered to say thank you and bid farewell to Shane MacGowan, I asked two very cold women beside me if they’d like a cup of tea. “Oh God, no,” said one immediately. “We’d need a wee within 20 minutes, and there’s nowhere to go near here.” “It’s fight or flight these days,” added the other lady. “And it’s a fight we’ve often lost.”

Fight or flight, wee or flee; for many people — especially women — navigating our towns and cities is often a precarious and problematic race against time and bladder. Ireland’s local authorities are not renowned for their civic amenities, but toilets should hardly be considered an optional facility. Countless public conveniences have been closed over the last few decades, which has done nothing for our image, and even less for our alleyways.

The dearth of public loos has long been an issue for many people, and debates abound on the requirements of those with medical conditions or with young babies, but here’s the clincher: although the need might be more urgent for those groups, it’s not limited to them.

They say the only certainties in life are death and taxes, but it would be safe to add “the need to pee” to that short list. Several plans to open new facilities have been shelved over the last few years, predominantly due to utility costs and local objections, and as is the way in Ireland with our layers of bureaucracy, the ball(cock) is dropped.

During the pandemic, when young people were encouraged to meet outdoors in Dublin city, and pubs and cafes kept their doors closed but sold drinks and snacks out of hatches and vans, there was widespread horror when revellers were photographed relieving themselves in any recess they could find. But it’s simple biology that when all the goodness from a skinful of pints is absorbed into the body, the other 99pc has to go somewhere.

​The temporary portaloos outside the capital’s Stephen’s Green Centre were born of this time, and miraculously have been maintained — a welcome respite from the toilets in the centre itself, which not only have a charge, but are secreted away in the very top of the building, so high up, that they are fondly known as “Everest Base Camp”.

As Christmas approaches, and shoppers travel to Dublin from around the country, many have to strategically plan their entire day around public facilities. There are women who visualise the city like an Indiana Jones flight map, moving red lines linking the locations where they know there are usable toilets, and shopping trips are planned with military precision around these rare porcelain treasures.

I once saw a woman demand to use the toilets in Leinster House, asserting that it was her democratic right. The unflappable security guard suggested she try the toilets next door in the Natural History Museum, and I’m sure there’s an irony there somewhere.

The ubiquity of the menacing “No Dogs, No Blacks, No Irish” signs of the past may have been apocryphal, but for those with temperamental bladders, “Toilets Are For Customers Only” notices are a cruel blow.

Admittedly, you could buy a cup of tea, but that would mean needing another wee 30 minutes later and the whole sorry cycle starts again. There have been many discussions around offering lower rates or a subsidy to cafes and restaurants in exchange for allowing non-customers to spend a penny without having to spend anything else, but this has never happened.

Public toilets are expensive to maintain, and historically have attracted antisocial behaviour, but mostly they just attract people who need to go to the toilet. If other cities can do it, surely we can? In the World Public Toilet Index (yes, it’s a thing), the Scandinavian countries rate highly, as you might expect, but Ireland languishes low on the list with about 12 public toilets per 100,000 people, which isn’t a queue any of us would like to be in. Dublin city needs a huge civic upgrade, in many, many respects, but a definitive plan for more accessible public conveniences needs to be a priority.

​I lived in Malaysian Borneo for a year, and the public toilets in our rural local town were staffed by an intransigent man sitting behind a table outside. Behind him, a sign displayed the charge in Malaysian currency: “Wee: 1 RM. Poo: 2 RM.”

Outraged that I should have to pre-authorise my ablutions to a stranger, I asked why he needed to know and he said without missing a beat: “Because we give you one sheet of paper for a wee, and two for a poo.”

Now, I’m not suggesting we apply this level of specificity here, but using limited resources, it offered security, and ticked the sustainability box too.

The true measure of any society can be found in how it treats its weakest bladders — and we need to do better.