Two posts ago I set a challenge, and you responded with a delightful mix of hard fact and lunacy. Heartiest congratulations are therefore sweeping gleefully in the direction of David, who correctly surmised that I’d spent two delightful evenings in the company of Camper Van Beethoven and Arthur Lee and Love on London’s splendid South Bank, and to Wild, who described in great detail what would have been my best evening out ever, had it ever actually occured. It’s very much worth reading (eleven comments down).
And so, I’ve got to keep my part of the bargain, which is to relate the sordid tale of my most embarrassing moment ever. I really don’t know why I’m doing this.
It had been a heavy night. I can’t remember what we’d been celebrating, but that’s not important. Suffice to say, I woke up feeling like I’d gone ten rounds with a bison, with a taste in my mouth that would have had any health and safety committee calling for urgent back-up. It was already late afternoon, and I was due in town to meet a friend I hadn’t seen in months. Not wanting to let him down, I quickly scrubbed up and headed down to the station. Within a couple of stops I realised that I’d have been better off in bed, as the morning after the night before really began to catch up with me. Then disaster struck. Pulling into Regents Park station, I suddenly bent over double as my colon went into spasm, and realised that I desperately needed to answer the call of nature. Now this is a problem. Underground trains don’t have toilets, and there aren’t any such facilities on the platform either. As soon as the doors opened I ran down one of the exit tunnels, desperately looking for a secluded spot away from the prying security cameras where I could complete my business. Spotting an alcove where there was little chance of intrusion I swiftly dropped my trousers and let rip. It’s a mess, but it doesn’t take long. Within ten seconds I’m up and walking shakily towards the exit and some fresh air, relieved that the pain is over and I haven’t been spotted. And then, as I stroll casually through the ticket hall towards the street outside, the station tannoy crackles into life, and an official sounding woman speaks: “This is a message for the passenger with the long hair just leaving the station. I hope you’re planning to CLEAN UP THAT SHIT!”
I keep walking and don’t look back.
Would anyone else like to share any similar tales?
that is a truly horrifying story…. i’ll tell a similar one involving the boy scouts at some point…..
but on a lighter note, the camper van beethoven site: on the far right theres a little squiggly question mark saying “don’t click, count to 5 and reload”. so i did, and it changed the main picture. fine.
then i clicked the squiggly thing, and it split the page into two frames. and again. and…. oh you get the idea. it’s tremendous fun, seeing how many frames you can fit into the same window.
stopped me thinking about fraser logging on in a tube station, anyway….
yeah, the big brother is everywhere. no alcoven is left out.
I got one. A couple of years ago my brother and his girlfriend had a msierable xmas and boxing day having gotten a bad bout of the trots each. Having mostly got over it they decided to risk leaving the house on the day after boxing day.
Sitting in a cafe in downtown Wellington my brother decides he’ll be real funny and lift his butt cheek and aim a fart at his girlfriend – sadly this ‘backfired’ in a major way. the resulting mess meant he had to go to the bathrooms and strip off, throw away his boxer shorts – rinse the inside of his jeans, put them back on and go home in shame. Classy.
I was once at the Reading festival standing there in the immense crowd waiting for the Chilis to come on after Cypress Hill.
I was gagging for a piss. I had to have one sooo badly that I was nearly crying, yet despite the toilet being less than 200 metres away, the density of the crowd prevented even a 100meter/hour velocity.
In fact the crowd was so tightly packed in that non-one could lift their arms above their heads, unless they’d started of with their hands above their heads, in which case they couldn’t get them back down again, no matter how aggressively they tried.
So I’m practically screaming in bladder-wracking agony. The only thing I could possibly do was to undo my zip, pull out the old fella and urinate down the back of the trousers of the bloke stuck in front of me, who was very large and appeared to be a full paid up member of the local neo-nazi squad.
He went mental but couldn’t turn round because of the crowd. He kept shouting “Stop pissing on me, I’m going to fucking kill you, you freak! I’ll kill you! Stop it!”
I kept shouting “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry…” whilst choking back the tears of part enormous physical relief and part terror that I was going to die at the hands of this psycho. Worst thing was, I had been drinking quite a bit, so the act of urination continued for about 45-50 seconds (a long time).
He was quite drenched afterwards and I was slightly annoyed that the front of my jeans was getting wet because of him.
I managed to escape through a daring request to the surrounding fans to lift me onto their heads for a crowd surf. He tried to grab me but only got my shoe.
I spent the rest of the weekend with my left foot in a plastic bag acting as makeshift footwear.
And did you have that plastic bag all the time?
no, I found it in a bush.
I see. Otherwise you could’ve relieved yourself in it, thus avoiding the whole escapade. Or, come to think of it, you could’ve used the shoe itself as a convenient receptacle.
The Chilis would’ve approved of all this though I bet.
It would’ve had to be a pretty big shoe to contain 45-50 seconds worth of urine.
Yeah, I suppose.. but then that’s Rock’n’Roll!
..or a very tiny penis.
i once had someone piss on me at glastonbury festival. i looked round and it was a midget on a chair, who jumped off it and started berating ME! i was so shocked i was speechless and had an uncomfortable feeling that everyone was laughing at me. i ended up just “tutting” and going red. i can think of hundreds of things i could have said afterwards, but it was just so surreal i guess i must have froze. this is, btw, an absolute true story.
For some reason, pissing on people is a concept that repulses me. Maybe I’m just not as sexually liberated as you lot.
Hey, that link to the London Local Authotites Bill was fascinating.
So, we can prosecute multiple dog walkers.
On second thoughts, let’s prosecute the people who employ them. The walkers are just trying to make a living.
Its not like I walked into the middle of a heaving crowd, waited till my bladder was nearly physically bursting and then urinated on the guy in front of me all for some dodgy sexual kicks you know.
I needed to go and there was absolutely no alternative.
Its also not like I was shitting in a tube station and walking off without wiping my botty or anything.
Fraser, I can never look you in the face again.
On the other hand, Wild – I applaud you mightily. I laughed so hard at that story that I was unable to read it out to my friend for several minutes.
I was forced to stand guard while my friend Clive did a shit in the doorway of a Chinese takeaway in Cardiff. It was a monster log, and was still there two days later.
So, now I’ve found you, you pissy little fucker. It’s taken me months to track you down but I vowed that one day I’d find the little shit that pissed down the back of my trousers at Reading.
I never leave home without that shoe of yours in the hope that one day I’d find the foot to fit it. Thanks to you I’ve had to leave my local NF branch ’cause all my mates started calling me ‘Prince Charming’. That’s no name for a self-respecting neo-nazi with piss-stinking trousers.
So now, Mr. Wild, I know your name and one night when you’re dreaming I’ll come into your house, piss in your ear and shit in your other shoe. You have been warned.
that cplonic site is fantastic:
“My family has greatly benefited from your unit. My son was suffering from severe gas pains, my mother from constipation that was not responding to laxatives. Both have found relief because of the Ultimate Cleansing Unit. -Sincerely, Mrs. M of Bountijul UT ”
“Before I purchased the Ultimate Cleansing Unit, I was using another board. It was uncomfortable and messy. I think that the tip could be dangerous because it was non-pliable. The Ultimate system has eliminated these problems. -Sincerely Ulssa Barlow “
Once when I was taking a train from Xi’an, China to Guangzhou, I used the bathroom on the old train. Without going into detail, I would like to point out that the Chinese are not good marksmen, and no matter where you stand in a tiny, squatty-potty cubicle on a moving Chinese train, the bottom of your shoes will never be the same.
I failed to give one piece of advice regarding Chinese train trips: Bring your own tp.
Hedges are the best place at Reading for a piss if you ask me – never thought about using the back of the chap in front, though!! Both are preferable to the official bogs!