My old man
is a complicated soul. His main problem is he's very shy, which is a problem for everyone else as they miss out on the white-knuckle levels of genius of which he is capable.

However, this was not one of these moments. It is 1993 and I am in Blackpool, on holiday, keeping it real. Finding ourselves in need of a piss, my father, brother and I retire to a public convenience of some Victorian splendour. Probably mid-way between my dad's eventually successful search of Blackpool's tourist haunts to find "one of them pens".

The Crystal Maze was a big thing at the time. It was this, rather than anything else, which caused my father to jokingly make an achingly hip pop-cultural reference over his shoulder to my brother and I, whilst stood at the urinal. "I don't understand what I am supposed to do!", quoth he. Sadly, youthful of bladder, we'd both long since shaken the drips off and were already waiting outside. Our places taken by some other children. Oh, lord.

He finished his dad-sized wee as quickly as possible and snuck out to tell us his tale of woe. Had the ground opened up to swallow him, we'd have all jumped in as well, I should think. Still, it could have been worse. If it had happened today, he'd probably have been banged up for being a paedo. Simpler times!
( dotmund .co.uk, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 11:53, Reply)