Public breastfeeding

It always seems to splash over my shoes anyway!

It would splash over your shoes!

I'm fairly sure it would go down my leg. But I will try it in the garden when the rain stops.

Good heavens! I've learned a lot of things on Gransnet, but this must be the ultimate lesson. Any more tips Butty?

The trick is to learn not to squat. Here's how ....

With trousers - take down to just above knees (+ pants, of course), bend forward and stick out bottom whilst pulling pants and trousers forward. When finished, pull pants and trousers up in one fluid movement whilst straightening up.

With dress/skirt - bunch up skirt to front, and then do the same procedure with pants as above.

Quick and easy. For some reason it's called Indian fashion.

It was the image of you with your bag wrapped round your neck, swinging on the pipework that did it Greatnan. Can't help but giggle about it

That's the worst thing, though, isn't it, especially if you're wearing trousers - you have to actually get yourself at least semi-upright to pull up your pants!

I thought you were one of my friends, when! I had to drive on with soaking wet trousers - it would have been less trouble to pee in them!

Actually, Anagram, I'm not sure I could have reached the top of the car door from a squatting position. I expect I put a hand on the ground on either side, stuck out my behind, and heaved myself upwards.

Well, you did ask!

I know, Greatnan. I was concentrating on jingl's dilemma with the car-door privy (meant the top of the car door).

That should have been in the 'This made me laugh' thread! Hilarious to think of Greatnan wrecking the pipework in her attempts to get back up!

Don't worry about it too much Anagram. Can't remember how I got up but I definitely did.

Anagram - I was talking about the difficulty in rising from a squat or Turkish toilet!

But couldn't you haul yourself up by the car door handles, or the top of the door?

I remember once, my car broke down on the m5 on a snowy dark winter night. I was DESPARATE so I scrambled down the verge to a dip, lowered my pants and squatted!
I then realised I'd chosen a patch of half frozen stinging nettles as my toilet!
Ouch!

Oh yes. You have the same trouble Greatnan.

It's the getting up again that's hard.

Oh, I did the car doors things once. Was deep in the countryside, and I was desperate! It only works if there is a bit of a low bank on the roadside, otherwise you get a gap!

If you haven't seen a coach load of French men all standing by the verge relieving themselves you haven't lived! Some older French women use what is known as 'entre deux portes' - they open both car doors on the side away from the road and squat between. There are very few public toilets in rural France - I have been told frequently that it is quite acceptable to use those in a bar or restaurant but I would only do it in extremis. I am adept at finding private places on my walks but trousers are more difficult than skirts.
I was surprised to find on a Swiss motorway a Turkish (squat) toilet. They usually are lacking a hook for your handbag, so you end up with it round your neck, trying to keep your trouser bottoms from getting wet and then finding there is no handgrip to haul yourself up. I once pulled the downpipe away from the wall in my efforts to rise.

One of my French friends said she found the British very up-tight about bodily functions but very open about sex - and it was the opposite in France.

I find it hard to believe that anybody can equate defecating in public with breast feeding.

Agreed!

That is funny, petallus!

I'm reading all the Patrick Melrose novels. Fantastic!

I'm currently reading Mother's Milk by Edward St Aubyn. Just came across this apt bit, conversation between Mary and her mother Kettle:

'How was your flight?' asked Mary politely.

'Ghastly' said Kettle. 'There was an awful woman next to me on the plane who was terribly proud of her breasts, and kept sticking them in her child's face.'

It's called breast-feeding Mummy' said Mary.

'Thank you darling' said Kettle. 'I know it's all the rage now, but when I was having children the talk was of getting one's figure back. A clever woman was the one who went to a party looking as if she'd never been pregnant, not the one with her breasts hanging out, at least not for breast-feeding.'

Perhaps it was just happy contentment?

Well I certainly didn't feel smug when I fed mine in public. What a strange way to feel when doing something so natural. Maybe most of us did it so discreetly that no one noticed?