So there you are, on the motorway, and you realise you need to stop for a break. It could be a Tacho break, a “comfort” break or just a need to stretch your legs for a few minutes.
Now, for those of you in a car, you park outside the main entrance in a nicely tended garden environment, with just a short walk to the door. If however you are in a truck, you get parked about half a mile away from the main entrance, tucked away where no one can see you.
As you get out of your cab, inevitably it will be raining and your bottom step will line up nicely with the deepest puddle in the area. The first thing you notice is that certain aroma, the one that says some people can’t be bothered to walk to the main building to use the toilets. You negotiate the puddles, the potholes, the bags of rubbish and other trucks, walk along the muddy path through the field, cross the stream, climb over the fence, dodge the cars on the main road leading to the service area as you cross the faded zebra crossing, and walk past all the empty coach parking bays that you are not allowed to use.
Inevitably there is one coach full of geriatrics, all walking at a pace that even a snail would be embarrassed by, three abreast blocking your path, and you are too polite to push them out the way, just when you see a chance to pass them, another group come the other way forcing you onto the road and straight into a large puddle.
You finally make the main building after dodging the RAC salesman and the blonde with an ■■■ the size of Belgium who is trying to tempt you to a new credit card, and spend the next few minutes looking through all the signs to find one telling you where the toilets are. Be careful, on some new signs it’s hard to tell a man from a woman. You then dodge around the horde of school kids running between the burger bar, the shop and the games machines, around the long queue for the overpriced coffee shop, and the sign saying "CAUTION WET FLOOR.
Finally you reach the gents; of course if you just want a wee then all the urinals will be occupied except the one for small boys that is two feet from the floor! This requires accuracy and skill to avoid giving your shoes a spray, aim too low and its water on the Cherry Blossom, aim too high and its splash back time! Of course, they always choose to flush while you are using them, and being full of chewing gum, you watch anxiously while the water level rises dangerously near the rim. Nervously you move your feet wider apart.
If you need to use the stalls, then the fun really starts. Usually they are all occupied, so you stand around whistling quietly to yourself, while everyone thinks you are some kind of pervert! But wait! A stall comes free, you rush to get there before someone else, but you’re too slow, the man mountain that was waiting on the opposite side of the aisle beats you too it. So you wait again, getting ready to run out of the blocks like an Olympic sprinter. Just as you begin to get desperate, another one comes free and of course it’s the one that the door hinges creak extremely loudly so everyone looks at you, the lock is hanging on with one screw, meaning you will nervously sit with your foot firmly against the door just in case, and of course, the previous occupier had 10 pints and a large curry the night before.
Now I don’t know about you, but I have a phobia about finding the toilet roll holder empty, so that is the first thing I check. It’s too late once you’ve done the business, you can’t call room service, or phone a friend, so I always check before getting seated.
Is it just me, or is there something disconcerting about sitting down on a warm toilet seat after some stranger? If you are home and follow the wife in, then it seems sort of comfortable, but a complete stranger?
Now a word of advice, and this applies to the ladies as well as the men, if it is one of the new stalls with the automatic flush system, take off your Hi Viz jacket before sitting down otherwise every time you move, you will get a jet of freezing cold water where the sun don’t shine!
Once the serious business has been done, its time to wipe the slate clean! Now there are two types of toilet rolls, those that are so big they get stuck in the holder, every time you try to pull off a length, you get one sheet, no matter if you give one sharp tug, or try to ease them out, just as it looks as though you will be successful, a single sheet rips off, just add it to the growing pile on your knee. Then there are the part used roll that are impossible to find the end of, you try pushing it round one way then the other, try ripping it with your finger nails, but you still only get one sheet at a time.
So, its now time to wash your hands. Can anyone tell me why they have to put a sign above the hot tap saying WARNING THIS WATER IS HOT! Of course it’s bloody hot! It’s a HOT tap! If I wanted cold water, I would use the COLD tap. Why do they have separate taps anyway? As there is never a plug, you have to move your hands quickly between the two taps, first scalding them, then freezing the nails off. Next you try to get some soap, every other sink has a soap dispenser above it, but it is always the third one you try that actually has soap in it! You put some soap on your palms, and press down on either tap, only to get a jet of water so powerful a cruise liner would have trouble sailing up stream, and of course, it sprays out all over your trousers, not so bad if they are dark, but if they are a light colour, EVERYONE in the services will know where you spent the last few minutes.
Now try to dry your hands. Now maths was never my best subject at school, but why is it there are 12 stalls, 20 urinals, 10 wash basins, but only 2 hand dryers? You stand with water dripping off your hands while some old man takes forever to dry his hands. Some hot air blowers will only start if you find the precise spot to place your hands, move them an inch either way and they stop, which is no good if you are trying to furtively direct the flow of air to dry your trousers. But we have a great British inventor to thank for the latest innovation; Mr Dyson is now producing high pressure hand dryers, place your hands in the slot and watch as your skin, hair and finger nails are surgically removed by a razor sharp blast of air
aw bless, sorry buddy, thats for those that are more generously equipped, stops us dipping our end in the porcelain 
