When you've gotta go...
My bladder was fit to burst. I was driving home from work in the dark and my post-work pint was trying to make a break for it, so I pulled into the lay-by to use the public convenience that I knew to be there.

Now I would be lying if I said that I didn’t know that it used to be a notorious gay cruising spot, but my bladder didn’t care. A man had been stabbed to death there, but my bladder didn’t care. Looking back it seems a ridiculous thing to have done, but my bladder didn’t care.

I reasoned it out in my head. It was only early evening on a cold dark winters night and it was 1999 for god’s sake, homosexuals didn’t need to hang around toilets anymore, they had pubs and clubs and Celine Dion concerts for that sort of thing. I was using a public convenience for its correct purpose. Either way, my bladder didn’t care.

Straight away things looked bad. The small red brick building looked run down and there were no lights on inside, but my ever-present bladder pushed me on. I went inside, I could just about see my way by the orange sodium glow filtering in from the main road streetlights. It was a typical old fashioned public toilet, red tiled floors, toilet cubicles missing doors and toilet seats, crusty sinks without taps and the white porcelain communal urinal which I made my way to, careful not to slip on the wet slimy floor.

Fast footsteps were approaching the toilet. I was pissing like a carthorse. I wanted the footsteps to go away, I knew they wouldn’t. The footsteps entered the toilet and I was still pissing like a carthorse. A man came and stood next to me, a big man, a man that wasn’t there to urinate because he just stood there, looking at me in the gloom. Albert Einstein said that all time is relative, well that night I think it took a couple of hours for my bladder to empty.

I zipped up and calmly made my way back to my car. As I drove out of the lay-by my headlights illuminated the other cars that I had failed to notice in my desperation to relive myself. Each car had a man sat inside. Looking at me. Someone who had accidentally stepped into their world.
( Colonel Dracula Two manky hookers and a racist dwarf, Fri 16 Nov 2007, 12:51, 4 replies)

Public Conveniences
belong to good, honest, heterosexual people who want to urinate. Well done on taking that first step to resist the tyranny of the cottagers!

As you rightly pointed out, they have celine dion concerts for that sort of thing. Time to take back the toilets for decent, God-fearing people with full bladders.
(Seance Trumpet has got no beef with a man enjoying a croissant, Fri 16 Nov 2007, 13:01, closed)

When I want to urinate,
I do not wish to be accosted by frisky bum-ferrets with aspirations regarding my anal virginity. Gentlemen, you have my full support.

'Up the revolution!: Down with cottagers!'
(Greencloud Wanted to go fishing on, Fri 16 Nov 2007, 13:16, closed)

Absolutely....
...you first (furtively checking out your ass) ;-)
(Reverend Fister "a disciplined fuckwit", Fri 16 Nov 2007, 14:08, closed)

They have
Closed down all the public bogs in Brighton due to the cottagers, i just piss on the boarded up doors now.
( Trollman, Fri 16 Nov 2007, 14:49, closed)