scorrie
06-Mar-09, 01:19
WARNING:-
Don't read this post if you are squeamish about bathroom/toilet incidents OR have no sense of humour. The following events are 100% genuine and could (probably) only have happened to me.
To thank the many people who have left positive feedback for me recently, (Sorry for not thanking you all individually but I have been busy) I am going to tell a story that was never to see the light of day.
Anyway, my Wife's Mum died a week before Christmas and then my Sister-in-Law died three weeks later. A fair number of people travelled North for the funerals and, in the latter case, we had to put three people up in our sitting room overnight.
After the funeral there was a fair bit of drinking going on, as it was a very emotional occasion for us all. By about 2am we were all pretty blootered and retired to our various beds. I fell into a deep sleep but wakened a couple of hours later to nip to the toilet. When I got there I detected an unpleasant smell, as if someone had been sick. I couldn't see anything amiss but, like the good housewife, I took the Harpic bottle to the loo and gave it a thorough clean. A few squirts of air freshener later I left, confident the aroma would be gone.
Two hours later I had to take some painkillers (not for the alcohol effects) and I nipped back to check the loo, worried in case our guests went in and caught the gowf. I was surprised that the smell was still as bad as before and decided to leave the window open to air the room before returning to my bed.
I couldn't get back to sleep, as I was concerned about the embarrassment that this odour might cause with guests in the house. Armed with a new determination, I set off back to the bog with my best bloodhound nose twitching. After a fair bit of sniffing around without success, I came to the realisation that the only place left to check was the shower. I threw back the shower curtains and, to my astonishment, I discovered the culprit. There, on the shower seat, was our good old friend, known to some as King Eddie, to others as Richard The Third and to yet more as the humble "Jobbie". I twigged in a millisecond that one of our guests had mistaken the shower seat for the toilet seat and heaved the "Havana" on the wrong pew. What was most puzzling was that the toilet is straight ahead on entrance, and the culprit would have had to head right, draw the curtains and open quite an awkward enclosure in order to enter the shower. A padded seat and arm-rests, should have been further clues that this was no porcelain chariot that they were mounting. Anyway, I decided I had better be the one to don the rubber gloves and reach for the bleach. As I approached our homesick "friend" I noticed he was rather odd looking, until I realised that the poor chap had been denied the assistance of gravity when exiting the cavity. He had had to make a horizontal egress, rather than the normal vertical one. I suddenly visualised Playdoh being squeezed through the star-shaped mould. A few moments later and our pal made his belated splash into the correct facility, leaving only a couple of points to ponder:-
A) There is no flush in a shower.
B) There is no toilet paper either.
Point A, I had dealt with, and point B was of no concern to me, although I suspected it would be a worry for someone else later on!! (you've got to be in it to Winnit ;) )
When arriving for breakfast, I could hardly look our guests in the eye but after they had gone, our kids filled us in on which one of the "Living Room Three" had done the deed.
After my Wife had done with killing herself laughing, we were told this must never be mentioned to a soul. I managed to keep it quiet for six weeks, I think that is not bad. Like Quality Street, some things are made for sharing!!
Thank you orgers.
Don't read this post if you are squeamish about bathroom/toilet incidents OR have no sense of humour. The following events are 100% genuine and could (probably) only have happened to me.
To thank the many people who have left positive feedback for me recently, (Sorry for not thanking you all individually but I have been busy) I am going to tell a story that was never to see the light of day.
Anyway, my Wife's Mum died a week before Christmas and then my Sister-in-Law died three weeks later. A fair number of people travelled North for the funerals and, in the latter case, we had to put three people up in our sitting room overnight.
After the funeral there was a fair bit of drinking going on, as it was a very emotional occasion for us all. By about 2am we were all pretty blootered and retired to our various beds. I fell into a deep sleep but wakened a couple of hours later to nip to the toilet. When I got there I detected an unpleasant smell, as if someone had been sick. I couldn't see anything amiss but, like the good housewife, I took the Harpic bottle to the loo and gave it a thorough clean. A few squirts of air freshener later I left, confident the aroma would be gone.
Two hours later I had to take some painkillers (not for the alcohol effects) and I nipped back to check the loo, worried in case our guests went in and caught the gowf. I was surprised that the smell was still as bad as before and decided to leave the window open to air the room before returning to my bed.
I couldn't get back to sleep, as I was concerned about the embarrassment that this odour might cause with guests in the house. Armed with a new determination, I set off back to the bog with my best bloodhound nose twitching. After a fair bit of sniffing around without success, I came to the realisation that the only place left to check was the shower. I threw back the shower curtains and, to my astonishment, I discovered the culprit. There, on the shower seat, was our good old friend, known to some as King Eddie, to others as Richard The Third and to yet more as the humble "Jobbie". I twigged in a millisecond that one of our guests had mistaken the shower seat for the toilet seat and heaved the "Havana" on the wrong pew. What was most puzzling was that the toilet is straight ahead on entrance, and the culprit would have had to head right, draw the curtains and open quite an awkward enclosure in order to enter the shower. A padded seat and arm-rests, should have been further clues that this was no porcelain chariot that they were mounting. Anyway, I decided I had better be the one to don the rubber gloves and reach for the bleach. As I approached our homesick "friend" I noticed he was rather odd looking, until I realised that the poor chap had been denied the assistance of gravity when exiting the cavity. He had had to make a horizontal egress, rather than the normal vertical one. I suddenly visualised Playdoh being squeezed through the star-shaped mould. A few moments later and our pal made his belated splash into the correct facility, leaving only a couple of points to ponder:-
A) There is no flush in a shower.
B) There is no toilet paper either.
Point A, I had dealt with, and point B was of no concern to me, although I suspected it would be a worry for someone else later on!! (you've got to be in it to Winnit ;) )
When arriving for breakfast, I could hardly look our guests in the eye but after they had gone, our kids filled us in on which one of the "Living Room Three" had done the deed.
After my Wife had done with killing herself laughing, we were told this must never be mentioned to a soul. I managed to keep it quiet for six weeks, I think that is not bad. Like Quality Street, some things are made for sharing!!
Thank you orgers.