In which Chickenlady cocks up guest bathrooms
I don’t seem to be a good houseguest when it comes to bathrooms….

When I was first seeing the ex-MrChickenlady he lived with his brother and sister-in-law in a large rambling manor house in the countryside with no neighbours for miles around. I’d gone to stay for the weekend – large hearty meals, vast quantities of wine, long walks and evil hangovers - rather like The Archers but with less death.
The brother and SiL prepared a lovely meal one night, we all got extremely drunk and staggered off to bed. The ex’s bedroom was at the opposite end of the house from the brother and SiL and both had their own large bathrooms. After some drunken fumblings and beery farts (him, not me), I needed to pee. Tottering into the bathroom in very high heels and little else I locked the door behind me – no, I don’t know why either. I peed – that’s what I’d come in for, washed my hands – even when drunk I always remember that cleanliness is next to Godliness – the nuns taught me well – and I went to unlock the door and return to bed – maybe even take the heels off if I could negotiate the tiny buckles and straps around the ankle.
So, there I am, entirely starkers except what are best described as Porn Queen Shoes, attempting to turn a very old key in a rusty hole…ahem…
I tried and nothing happened – too much wine, probably. So I tried again – nothing. Then I decided to put a little more force into it – I planted my feet wide, bent at the knees, grasped the key in both hands and pushed hard towards the right….
And fell over, hitting my head against the wall as the key broke in the lock.
I was trapped. It was 2am, I was in the middle of the English countryside, in a house of drunken toffs, naked except some obscene shoes, I had a lump on my head and very little chance of rescue until a large Labrador began to lick someone’s hairy balls at 6.15am. Marvellous. So I began to shout and moan – that always wakes the neighbours up. Success! The ex woke up and once he’d worked out that this wasn’t some Challenge Anneka type sex game, he tried to open the door – except all he did was fumble at the lock, wiggle the handle and push a bit – the story of my married life….
Soon his brother was woken up too and between the two of them they decided to rescue me through the window using a long fruit picking ladder that they had out in the barn. Within hours they were shouting from outside to open up the bathroom window. Before this turned into a Carry-On farce I grabbed a large bath towel and attempted to cover my dignity with the striped threadbare piece of terrycloth which had probably served both brothers well in many nativity scenes.
Opening the window I was faced with the leering grin of the ex’s brother – of course, the ex was scared of heights. Climbing onto the toilet seat I managed to manoeuvre my increasingly cold self over the window sill, out into the chilly freedom of the night….in high heels, no mean feat. The brother was by now halfway down the ladder – holding it firm, he said. As the icy blasts whipped around my nether regions I could hear laboured breathing coming from below me – the cold air apparently made his ‘asthma’ play up. He carefully guided my Porn Queen shoed feet onto each rung – even when some of the rungs were missing and I had to lower myself almost onto his head.
I made it safely down to the ground, the ex was by now having a fag and scratching his balls – I believe the Labrador was woken by all of this too. The brother was grinning and tugging his dressing gown around him and said I was welcome to come to stay anytime – even if they did need to buy a new door for the bathroom now.
Skip forward in time some five or six years and the ex’s brother and SiL had young children, as did the ex and I. We’d all gone to stay for one of the kid’s birthday’s – mountains of cake, lashings of ginger beer, and the SiL and I quietly and desperately pissed on gin mixed with Tesco Value Orange Squash. The house had a large Aga in the kitchen on which they used to drape damp washing during the winter months which gave the room a vague aroma of damp dog and lavender. Sometimes it was baby vomit and lavender. After about six or seven Montessori gin slings I needed a pee – this is a common theme it would seem….
I retreated to the downstairs loo avoiding the bow and arrows, lego and brio, safely locked the smallest room door behind me and had a satisfying pee that would have shamed Red Rum. Then I turned to the toilet roll – no lady likes to shake and go – and there to my horror I found nothing. I believe Blue Peter had been showing how to make your own 4x4 the day before – no doubt one of the kids had requisitioned the toilet roll in an effort to become a proto-Jeremy Clarkson.
I was faced with a dilemma – shake and be damp or…..although the loo was a small room, it wasn’t that small – they kept their washing machine in there and sitting waiting was a pile of sheets and towels. I grabbed a handtowel used it and returned it to the pile – it was about to be washed anyway, wasn’t it?
Erm…no. The SiL went in after me, retrieved the basket of washing and draped it around the Aga. As it slowly began to steam I suggested we go out for a walk….but not before the ex’s brother came in from the garden, washed his hands and face and called out for a hand towel.

I don't think I was cut out for the posh life.
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Tue 11 Jan 2011, 20:17, 7 replies)

all he did was fumble at the lock, wiggle the handle and push a bit – the story of my married life….
Excellent! You get a click for this line alone.
(IHateSprouts is baking a huge pie shaped like an enormous pie, Tue 11 Jan 2011, 20:36, closed)

have missed your posts :-)
*click*
( Vipros. clever got me this far, then tricky got me in, Tue 11 Jan 2011, 21:26, closed)

that's
wonderful stuff.

I hope you're a journalist. If you're not, you should be.
( Not Pineapple anymore, Wed 12 Jan 2011, 8:54, closed)

Fun, but ...
how come you A went down the corridor with your heels on, and B: the ladder? I mean - even really pissed - in fact - especially if really pissed - I'd have thought you'd have wanted to take them off.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Wed 12 Jan 2011, 16:50, closed)

"maybe even take the heels off if I could negotiate the tiny buckles and straps around the ankle."
They were a bugger to undo even when sober. It wouldn't have been the first time that I'd slept in them :(
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Wed 12 Jan 2011, 23:09, closed)

Magical...
The line:

It was 2am, I was in the middle of the English countryside, in a house of drunken toffs, naked except some obscene shoes, I had a lump on my head and very little chance of rescue until a large Labrador began to lick someone’s hairy balls at 6.15am. Marvellous.

Must be an all-time classic. If that wasn't already worth a log-basket-load of clicks then "Montessori gin slings" would be.

Superb.
( Ugi , it's a game of give and cake, Thu 13 Jan 2011, 12:13, closed)

yup
I'm clicking for 'Montessori gin slings' I can almost taste 'em
(AndySpanners not working too hard on, Thu 13 Jan 2011, 12:15, closed)