My first story as editor of the Ontarion, the University of Guelph student paper, in 1987, was based on rating local food service bathrooms.

I went to local bars — and it cost the paper thousands in lost advertising revenue cause they didn’t like the results. This was before restaurant inspection disclosure.

Someone in New Zealand has picked up on the theme, writing that it’s amazing how there is no such thing as a toilet critic and, conversely, food critics abound.

Some of these restaurants, good ones even, have their toilets in impossible places, like through the kitchen and down a grimy flight of stairs, under another set of stairs.

Secondly, in the event of toilet paper being available, it is often more like sandpaper or, worse still, so brittle it’s unusable. One needn’t go into detail about what a mental and physical mess this can plop one into.

Thirdly, some toilets are so often in a state of splashed-out, soiled hideousness they cannot be used at all, but this is only speaking on the part of a male user of a male dunny. (We men tend to not notice the subtleties and nuances of bathroom tidiness, cleanliness and hygiene, as we’re a bit too tall to see down into the bowl, among other factors.) Even so, it evidently isn’t a punishable offence to leave a toilet in a state of multi-sensory stink by not cleaning up after oneself. In such instances, a greatly skilled toilet attendant could be very handy indeed. It would make dining life a lot more pleasant.

Fourth, a loo-user is frequently short-changed when it comes to washing and drying their hands, as the poor old Loser (Loo-user) regularly finds himself without soap or hot water, hand wipes, hand towels, a hand-dryer, or indeed any of the above.