Composting toilets are great, I got one for a variety of reasons and have never regretted it.
I’d struggled for years living in a family home with just one toilet in the bathroom, waiting cross-legged outside the door while someone took ages in the shower. But my house didn’t offer up any more room for another toilet. A composting toilet was the answer. I was going to give it its own little hut but in the end I just bunged it in the shed. I also like that it is much greener, not requiring any water for flush – instead you just wipe and add wood shavings.
The urine is separated from the solid, so the poo quickly goes dry and crumbly amongst the wood shavings and doesn’t smell at all. I also like the idea that it’s like the ultimate circular economy, because after a short while you can use it as compost in your back garden. A much nicer thought that it’s fertilising shrubs, rather than polluting our rivers and seas. The urine is directed into a separate plastic bottle and I empty it into my compost bin to add some nitrogen. Also, in such uncertain times, I like the fact that they don’t dependent on supporting infrastructure such as water supply or energy. It was especially useful during Covid, when visitors hung out in the back garden, and could use the composting toilet without coming in. This summer it was also handy during BBQs.
You can buy all kinds, ranging from shiny ceramic white ones to wooden ones. I went for a colourful one from Strumpet and Trollop.
I wrote an eco-themed rom-com Habitat Man which was published in 2021 and was so impressed by the toilet that it made it into the book. Research into how readers responded to the book showed that many were specially taken by the composting toilet scene. Here is an extract below (amended to avoid spoilers)
I entered the composting toilet and sat down. The feeling of calm and sanctuary inside echoed the garden. It was perfectly quiet except for the distant sound of a wood pigeon. It smelled of forests and fresh air, soothing to the senses and the spirit.
The smell of wood shavings reminded me of the hamster I used to keep. Trapped in its cage, running endlessly on the wheel. I thought of my job and the office toilets. But here there were no harsh lights, whirr of fans, smell of urine overlaid with air freshener. Instead, daylight streamed in through the small window, which I now saw had a picture set into the glass, a frog on a lily pad amidst dragonflies and bulrushes.
The sun caught the stained glass window and brought the scene suddenly to life, creating an almost religious experience. The elusive frog so sensitive to water pollution, safe here where our waste was used to nurture life. I heard the chirp of a cricket and smiled. In the sanctuary of the composting toilet, at last I forgave myself.
Habitat Man. That was what Ian had called me.
I realised with surprise the decision had been made.
I breathed out for what seemed like the first time in years and relaxed. I felt a swelling up, a feeling of rightness, of great joy, a letting go.
I used the paper, then put two scoops of wood shavings down the toilet and used the hand sanitizer. I opened the door and walked out into the garden and back into the house.
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