Sit or squat, you decide. One thing that varies a lot between countries is rituals of going to the toilet. In my home land it is a simple matter of; go into the cubicle, sit down or stand up (depending on your inclination), do what you came for, wipe, wash and get back to your life. It is an automatic function of every day life, one that you don't expect to put much thought into, but when you cross oceans and arrive on foreign shores, ablution rituals are different, confusing and more often than not it takes a little time to work out how to do things correctly.

One of the first tips you learn when you peruse Japanese travel literature, is that you should carry tissues with you, whenever you are in a public arena. Few public toilets provide the luxury of toilet paper, you are dutifully advised. Perhaps these books were written a few decades ago and never updated, because I rarely had to use my little pack of handbag tissues that I religiously carried with me during my tenure. In fact the only time I ever had to pull out the BYO loo paper was in the train station toilets in Tokyo and Nagoya which, due to the smell are best avoided anyway. What the books don't mention is that almost all public toilets are squat toilets. As the self appointed leader of the toilet council (a position I have earned from having the weakest bladder in the world), I have decided that it's OK to squat for number 1's but it is preferable to sit for number 2's.

One of the challenges the first time user faces when taking their first squat is working out which way to face. A friend, who shall remain anonymous, admitted to facing the wrong way for weeks before she worked that out that you need to be looking at the cistern while you are doing your delicate business.

Another etiquette ridden Japanese WC formality is the toilet slipper ritual. You are bound to come across a school, business or home that provides slippers for you to wear on your ablution adventure. In the old days, when only the squat toilet existed, toilets were considered a dirty place to visit, so in order to not piddle on your shoes and come back with splash marks on your thongs, you wore a pair of communal slippers. The question begs to be asked 'Which is better, splash back on your own shoes, or having to wear shoes which hundreds of people have potentially marked as their territory?'�

There are formalities that must be observed when donning a pair of dunny thongs but the most important rule to observe is- Do NOT wear the toilet slippers in any part of any building other than the toilet. This is the ultimate toilet slipper no-no. Nobody wants to be known as the dirty piddle shoe wearing gaijin (foreigner).

You can also observe the polite tradition of leaving the toilet slippers in an easy to slip on arrangement for the next visitor. But the preparation for the next toilet guest does not stop at leaving a pair of shoes in the right position. Many Japanese women practice the art of toilet paper folding. Japan is the country that invented origami so it seems only natural that they would view toilet paper as just another paper medium to fold. I have never visited so many public toilets where the toilet paper has been folded into a perfect triangle. It feels like you are permanently staying in a posh hotel. As I am anally retentive and attentive to minute detail, toilet paper folding is an art that I easily adapted into my ritual.

When you dutifully fold the toilet paper into a perfect point, you are showing respect for the next users bum. I have long since been an advocate that bums should be loved not loathed, so I decided to play a little toilet game at my house, to see if anyone would notice the effort that I exerted out of esteem for their bums. For a while it seemed that mentioning the toilet paper was one of those social faux pars like talking about religion, war and politics. 'Don't mention the toilet paper!'�

My parents came to visit me, not a word. An old friend from Oz neglected to mention the effort I was going to out of respect for her bum. I was beginning to think that folding toilet paper is one of those good deeds that will forever go unappreciated. My faith was restored in the world when my best friend Karyn came to stay with me. It took her less than one day to mention the toilet paper folding. I felt a wash of relief come over me. My efforts were finally rewarded with an inquiry about my new respectful habit. I love it when I visit the little girl's room and someone has made an effort on behalf of my bottom. I can sit down and relax knowing that someone has got my back.

I once visited a toilet that had an automatic toilet seat that sensed when I stood up and then it flushed itself. When I went out to wash my hands, both the soap dispenser and tap were automatic. As I dried my hands with the automatic hand dryer I realised that I had touch virtually nothing on my trip to the loo. I wouldn't be surprised if the next time I visit Japan there is an automatic hand that extends from the bowl to wipe my ass to save me the trouble of doing any of the dirty work myself.

It is only in recent years that the Japanese have embraced the tradition of sitting down whilst visiting the latrine, and as expected, they have taken the toilet seat and made it their own. They have this uncanny knack for taking another country's invention or tradition and refining it into gadgetry perfection. One of these marvels is the heated toilet seat, often known as washlet or showerlet.

The first time you encounter one of these considerate chairs, you are blessed with a pleasant surprise. The cold hard plastic that you are accustomed to sitting on has been electronically warmed for your comfort and pleasure. But the fun doesn't stop there. The washlet is equipped with all manner of inbuilt devices including a bidet and occasionally a bumfluff blow dryer. Using a washlet may seem a bit daunting at first but once you take the plunge and experiment with the conveniently located button, the whole process becomes a lot less scary and an essential part of you toilet routine.

There are three buttons that you can choose to push. The buttons have pictures of bottoms on them with differing degrees of water being squirted up a cartoon derriere. The options are: gentle, bidet and blow dry. The decision for me to first experiment with the squirting functions, came from my American flatmate Erin's encouragement from the next cubical. We were discussing the wonders that were provided in the internet cafe bathrooms, when Erin posed the question of whether I had ever used the fanny fountain function (she is from a country that calls their bottom their fanny- 'fanny fountain'� means something entirely different to me). I was ashamed to admit that I had never been brave enough to push any of the buttons. I was afraid I would end up lifted to the ceiling Frank Spencer style with my pants around my ankles.

I activated the device and was pleasantly surprised with the outcome. I'd never experienced the sensation of water gently cleansing my bottom. At first I felt marginally violated and then I began to enjoy the fresh flushing feeling. I must also admit that whenever I visited the internet café again I didn't hesitate to use the ladies room. I can't sing the praises of the washlet enough. For a period, I tried to convince all of my friends and any new comer I met, that the washlet was the way of the future, but I quickly found that discussing bum washing techniques is not the best way to win friends.

The best I can hope for, is that someone, somewhere reads this and if they have the opportunity to use a bidet. Go for it! Live life to the fullest, even if it means having warm water squirted on your bottom.

Want to comment on this Creative Non-Fiction? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Creative Non-Fiction and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...