Log man
1983-84, Philbeach Gardens, South Kensington. Imperial didn't have many places in hall, so I thought I was very lucky, my final year, to land a place in a beautiful old Georgian house right across the road from college. And a single room (it was probably one of the servant's quarters, on the top floor.) Score!

There were maybe a dozen of us on that floor, almost all finalists, busting our humps on preparing for finals and/or final year projects. And one among us was log man.

Log man was like a ghost. Noone knew who he was, or which room was his. He'd make his presence known slyly, by leaving in the only top floor toilet bowel movements of such staggering dimensions that though they would occasionally soften up and be flushed away in the normal manner, a more efficient way of dealing with them would have been, I suggested once, a Kango to break them up and a block and tackle to lower them the 4 stories to ground level. Hard hats compulsory.

He did this every two weeks or so. The cleaners (Irish women all) were livid when they came upstairs to find one of log man's productions waiting for them. They seemed less concerned about the occasional pile of vomit where a bin had been missed, than log man's colon contents.

The cleaners were awesome, though. They kept the place in great shape, no matter how filthy and squalid some of the students lived. In good enough shape that, after finals, we staged the annual Garden Hall cocktail party, for which several bath tubs were removed from the hall to the back yard and used as containers in which cocktails were made. You haven't lived until you've scooped your glass into a bath full of Rusty Nail or Screwdriver. Many times. And then woken up face down on the sidewalk, with the Household Cavalry exercising their horses a scant few feet from the pneumatic drilling going on just behind your eyeballs.

Christ, my liver could never stand being a student today.
(IHaveComeAmongThee__Twice Tissues on the left. Self-esteem on the right., Thu 1 Apr 2010, 4:44, 3 replies)

What's a Kango?
and I accidentally clicked I like this. Fucking irritating,that is.
( disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Thu 1 Apr 2010, 6:31, closed)

Kango
Before I left Blighty it seemed like Kango was the tool used by every honest council ground worker. Something like www.kangowolf.co.za/products/ but usually big fuck off machines that dug up tarmac, concrete, water mains, cable tv wires, and anything else in the way. Mostly air powered; sometimes petrol. Always at ear-splitting and headache-inducing volume.

Now they (Kangos) were fucking irritating, let me say...
(IHaveComeAmongThee__Twice Tissues on the left. Self-esteem on the right., Thu 1 Apr 2010, 6:48, closed)

Log man
moved to Oz, and then laid logs as wide as a tin of baked beans in guest's loos at parties.

Died later of irritable bowel syndrome.
( The Scrunt Wants a Dozen Pints, Thu 1 Apr 2010, 8:36, closed)