Out West: Day Six

Catching myself in the mirror by the compost toilet and shower cabins, i notice that my face has become slightly tanned from these few days outside. I definitely need a haircut and my beard is sprouting. My morning regimen is normally to shave, before moving onto the loo and shower stages. Out here, my days start with a visit to the compost toilet, then taking to the shower next door.

The two most important questions you have to have answered satisfactorily before moving in anywhere are, what are the toilets like and what are the washing facilities like?

Well, here the toilets have comfortable wooden seats and the showers take seconds to fire up and have decent water pressure. Working in all weathers is no problem when you know you can get a decent shower, except when temperatures are so low that the pipes have frozen. Even so, when this happens you get alternatives here. There are about five showers on site and the best are insulated which have rarely, if ever been out of commission.

The compost toilet is simple. A recycled plastic 50 litre (maybe 100 litre) paint pot catches the solids, then sawdust, or grass cuttings are scattered over the excreted matter, before the plastic lid is put back in place to keep the flies away. Toilet paper goes in the bucket. Once two-thirds full, the bucket contents are carried to the composting area, where the human waste is collected and allowed to rot down for months until it becomes dry and fibrous enough to use on the garden. The bucket is then cleaned and returned to its station beneath the wooden loo seat. If a wee is needed that is done in a hedge, or behind one, as the compost toilet is most effective with minimal liquid content. There is running water, soap and a hand basin to wash hands after using the loo.

The shower is a shower. You turn on the water, the gas powered water heater kicks in and adjust the desired temperature as you go. It is in its own cabin adjacent to the toilet cabin. The fact that you have to walk ten paces, or across Peace Field to have a shower is no problem. Taking the longer route in the summer gives the opportunity to dry en pleine aire is wonderful. For some of the permaculture people on warm summer days clothing is minimal. Being near Glastonbury, with its hippy origins, pagan beliefs and a citizenry keen to live attuned to nature, it is accepted to discard clothes if you wish. My nipping to and back from the shower with my towel in hand is my nod to spending a whole day naked. Sunburn, insect bites and practicality are good reasons to keep clothes on. It is noticeable that footwear is always worn by the naked and having no pockets can be very inconvenient.

In mid-February, I heartily recommend as many layers of clothing as possible. Today, I started with five layers. I worked in four layers, with water-proof over-trousers when there was rain.

At 6 p.m. it was still light enough to complete the task of dragging the hedge and bay tree cuttings away. The first fine slice of the Moon was visible as I caught up with Smiley, who is the epitome of good nature. He is as he describes it, a Soul Mid-wife, which means, an end of life counsellor. Working with those living on short-notice and their families before and after death of the beloved is heavy work, but Smiley’s belief in passing to the spirit world, as opposed to simply becoming just so much more compost, provides invaluable comfort to the people he supports.

Smiley is a QPR fan, which often proves to be the most testing aspect of his life. He is a great example of how football fandom is fixed. A football fan does not change allegiance. Smiley uses the pronoun “We” when talking about his club, as do those truly attuned to The Game.

After chatting with Smiley, I walked with Dan, who coordinates the practicalities of the site, to the pub. It is a pub that brims with life on a Friday evening. There is no piped music and no carpeting. The bar is filled with animated conversation and the uplifting energy of the coming weekend. We sat at a wooden table and talked about life, mixed with our constant thread of banter around Millwall versus Pompey tomorrow afternoon. Dan is one of Them, while I am one of Us, or vice versa depending on your affiliation. We’re going to the match tomorrow, so we’re quite excited. We left the pub and walked up the lane calculating that it was only 19 hours to kick-off.

Dan gets to see his team play at their home ground, travel by train and have some urban hours. I get to see my team, catch up with familiar faces and Pompey mates and have a day-trip to a part of London that is fascinating. Densely populated, immediate post-Blitz architecture, latticed with railway lines and railway arches, dominated by a public waste incinerator plant and a very severe concrete football ground.

There will be a lot of police, lots of police on horses, police with dogs, police in riot gear and police sitting around in vans doing very little.

After the pub, joined by Dan’s best friend from his student years, we played some pool and drank some dark rum listening to mixtapes (now called ‘Playlists’), of trippy tunes, Bowie and then The Clash. It was a late night. Dan won everything, including Darts Cricket.

~

CLP 20/02/2026