I ate a beetroot salad last Wednesday. Not perhaps something to write about; after all, what’s exciting about beetroot?

But that’s not the way my stomach felt.

Indeed, as far as my internal organs were concerned, I might just as well have swallowed mercury.

And because my stomach and everything below it interpreted the beetroot as mercury, I faced a crisis.

If I didn’t find a loo within…ooh, three seconds, I’d never be welcome in Boots again.

Consequently – and ironically – I ran out of the store that specialises in providing treatments for stomach upsets, and instead turned right to the toilets in Market Street.

Now, if you remember, I helped oversee the renovation of these public conveniences, together with the ones in Gloucester Green that will open shortly.

Suffice to say, the toilets lived up to my expectations. But it also forced me to revisit a similar incident.

I was in Tunisia, being driven across the Sahara to Tattooine where, yes, Luke Skywalker grew up.

My stomach was queasy and I remember asking our guide if we could stop (after all, who was going to see?).

“Do you think you could hold on for 20 minutes?” she asked. “We’re almost there and they’ve planned a welcoming committee in their town hall.”

“Okay,” I replied, “but can the driver step on it?”

Sure enough, we got there, ahead of time, and sure enough, in the town’s small municipal offices, a welcoming committee was waiting.

It was a long corridor, with a long table running down the middle of it on which was placed a selection of fruits, fresh fish and other local delicacies.

Tugging our interpreter’s sleeve, I begged: “The toilet, please, the toilet. You promised..?”

And speaking to one of their waiting dignatories, she organised for me to be escorted to their rest room.

Except, it wasn’t strictly a rest room. The long corridor turned out to be L-shaped and to the right, in the base of the ‘L’, was a toilet with no door.

I, clearly, could hear everyone, and everyone could hear me.

Sadly, by this time I had no choice. Instinct and self-preservation took over. I rushed in, did my business. It was nasty, but that wasn’t the end of it.

There was no toilet paper.

So, I had to clear my throat and… ask.

Since, for some extraordinary reason, they didn’t have any, I was then handed a roll of fax paper.

This nightmare lasted no more than five minutes, but in that time I also had to return to the welcoming committee who were waiting to greet me with handshakes.

All I do remember vividly is that no one touched the food.

So, if you don’t mind, I’d personally like to thank Oxford City Council for providing us with loos with doors, loos with paper, and most importantly of all, loos free of welcoming committees.