The Porta Potti is a two - sworded invention. On the plus side it allows the motorhomer the freedom to go off grid without having to resort to primitive toileting arrangements such as digging holes. Somewhere in my wilderness backpacking kit I've got a folding trowel expressly used for that purpose. At worst it becomes a seething cauldron of noxious sewage right there in your compact living space.
Things were going swimmingly the other evening. I was tucked up cosily in my bed above the cab reading. Louis was in the bathroom. Suddenly my peace was disrupted. The door opened, an unpleasant aroma hit my nostrils and he yelled, way too loud for someone who was just five metres away. 'Mum I need your help!' 'Shut the bloody door and sort it out yourself!' was my first compassionate response. After all aren't children supposed to be encouraged to sort out their own problems? But it was not to be. My friends will confirm that I am one of the most easy going people on the planet. But on the rare occasions I'm riled lift off at Cape Canaveral looks a bit lame. It's all over in minutes. After all that maxim 'Don't let the sun go down on your anger' is a goodie. While my wrath is in full flow I am a force to be reckoned with. Harbouring ill thoughts and letting them fester, indeed like an ill maintained Porta Potti, is another matter entirely. Bearing grudges never did anyone any good. It's why that bloke with the long hair and whiter than white maxi dress talked a lot about forgiveness.
On this occasion I was justifiably cross. Very cross. I may have said the F word in front of an eleven year old. Okay, let's come clean. I did say it. I'll spare the vivid details but the situation involved solids, the open - close mechanism going into the toilet canister being repeatedly used without success and half a tonne of loo roll. After half hour spent doing one of the most unpleasant jobs ever, I slept with the window open to air the van and got bitten to buggery by the local mosquitoes during the night.
Then there was the indignity of the clean up at the chemical disposal point the next morning. It's a job where I'd rather have privacy. Here it's thoughtfully sited next to the washing up area where Louis' friends were doing their chores so no chance of that. Kids take a keen interest in the grosser things in life and their noses were practically under the canister. 'Whose poo is that?' they kept asking. 'And why is it that colour?' The chemicals added to the toilet make the contents a lurid green that Fungus the Bogeyman would be irresistibly drawn to.
If you visit someone in a motorhome there will usually be rules around when the toilet can be used. As a general guide the facility is there for decoration only unless in life death situations. You may feel that this is unreasonable but I hope I've shown today that that near embargo on its use is an entirely sensible precaution from both a sanity and sanitary perspective!