After a busy day in the ABSOLUT Fringe office, and a show that left me dazzled, I found myself missing my train by exactly 30 seconds. So, as one does, I sat down in Tara Street station and grunted a little. With an hour to kill before the next train, and on my own, there really weren’t that many exiting options in my reach. The candy machine offered some solace. So did the boyfriend on the phone. And the fighting inner-city scum on the opposite platform provided some entertainment as well.
Then, the blather kicked off. So, down the stairs I went, looked around, looked some more, and finally asked the security staff “where could I find the toilets please?” An apologetic smile ensured. “There aren’t any”, he said. I went “Oh… So, um, what do I do know?”. He kindly informed me of my options. I could a) sneak into the adjacent pub, or b) hop on a dart to Connolly station in search of the lavatories there. I opted for option b, but found myself left thinking and amazed by this. How is it possible that a trainstation in the middle of a capital city doesn’t have a toilet? It certainly didn’t make a mad day any better.
