It’s 2024, so why are people still shamelessly urinating in public?
There’s a lot to love about this city, but there are a few things I loathe. And one thing that’s made me buy a megaphone. More on that later.
Firstly, and while it’s not exactly a hot take because most of you will be with me — barring fetishists — let me say that I despise public urination.
Living in London, it’s in my face pretty much every day. My flat overlooks a dark corner that a surprising number of people (it must be said only men, I’ve never seen a woman do that here) think is acceptable to use as a urinal, and not just in the wee hours.
Morning, noon and night, these wretches scurry into the shadows for quick relief, like medieval peasants who have never heard of a flushing cistern. Shielded from the busy thoroughfare, they dart into my narrow street to misuse the concrete. It’s so well watered that moss and wildflowers have started sprouting up, but trust me, you wouldn’t want to sniff anything picked there.
My friends say I’m obsessed with monitoring this urban safari — the upshot is I have ideas for deterrents too
It’s incredible to me that so many can get to the desperate point that there’s no other choice but to wee in the wild. Plenty of pubs, cafes and Tube stations are open nearby with facilities. Is this the end of polite society?
Having a front-row seat to all of this stinks. You never know if you’ll unwittingly stumble across someone taking a “comfort break”; it makes going out or coming home unsavoury at best, distressing at worst.
Equally tragic are the people who choose to stand in an ammonia haze for a pre-work ciggie or to eat their lunchtime sarnies. Things can’t be that bad for them, surely? I once returned home to find a couple pressed up against the stained walls, smooching. What a venue for a tryst.
My friends say I’m obsessed with monitoring this perverted urban safari. Perhaps they’re right. The upshot is that I’ve come up with a few ideas for deterrents too.
How about free incontinence pants distributed at last orders, Oprah-style? Motion-activated floodlights would send perps scarpering but would also destroy sleep for residents, and we have suffered enough. Then there’s live-streaming the, er, live streaming. Nothing like peer pressure to shame folks into better behaviour, though this does risk backfiring by creating a new wave of viral effluencers.
My pocket of London could always take a leaf out of Soho’s book. The city’s liveliest district has it the worst, especially over the weekend when revellers swell the streets. In response, Westminster council has applied transparent pee-repellent paint on buildings and doorways which, rather brilliantly, returns splashes that hit surfaces covered with it.
But council budgets are stretched as it is and I imagine lavatories are pretty low on the list — let alone bulk-buying tins of anti-urination paint.
My offensive against this public offence?
I’ve done the only reasonable thing and bought a megaphone to call out foul behaviour (from behind the curtains; no confrontations for me, thanks, especially with someone with their pants down).
It has worked. Most responses are yelps of apology and a hasty retreat. I invite you to join me — megaphone or no — in calling out anti-social behaviour when you see it. London’s already got one mighty river. We don’t need another.
It should be a beautiful game off the pitch, too
I popped on the new Netflix documentary The Final: Attack on Wembley as I got dressed for the Women’s FA Cup Final at the same stadium yesterday. Yes, another doc examining history so recent I remember it like it was yesterday — but this is worth a watch. It focuses on the lead-up to and aftermath of the 2021 Euros final, England v Italy. The revelry that went wrong, the magic that turned sour, the national sucker-punch of the result. The fallout from those missed penalties.
An hour later I walked up the same Olympic Way I had just seen turn into a war zone on screen three years before. The atmosphere at the women’s game couldn’t have been more different: welcoming, friendly, celebratory. At the end, as Man U’s Mary Earps lifted the trophy, cheering erupted from all sides. These were real fans.
As the Lions prepare for the Euros this summer, I hope followers take their lead and do England proud. It’s meant to be the beautiful game, on and off the pitch.
Abha Shah is the Evening Standard’s deputy shopping editor
