I suppose he was my neighbour for a brief few minutes
A couple of hours ago I slunk off to the gents' for a brief constitutional (well, to expunge my humming bowels of last night's unexpected surfeit of ale*) and all went well.

Just as I was expelling the last few sulphurous clouds, I heard the door close in the cubicle next to mine. I didn't think this unusual, but then I heard the sound of the cubicle's recently acquired occupant taking a wad of toilet paper.

And then another.
And another.
And many more, in quick succession.

I was perplexed by this behaviour. Was this some OCD-related compulsion? Was he getting prepped for a post-lunch hand shandy? Had he already spluffed in his pants and come to the cubicle to frantically clean himself up? Or did he just not feel comfortable in a toilet cubicle unless he was able to nestle himself in a cocoon of bumwad?

So there we go: he was my neighbour, of sorts, for a couple of minutes and I deduced him to be odd by listening to what he was doing in his cubicle. I'm such a hypocrite.

*_{Coniston now make an Oatmeal Stout, I discovered last night, and it's fucking lovely. I thought I'd died and gone to heaven, before I woke up this morning farting like an ox.}
(LongJohnBaldry, Thu 1 Oct 2009, 15:16, 2 replies)

*Click*
For the combination of "farting like an ox" and "coccoon of bumwad".
( .Yeti. El amor en los tiempos del cólera, Fri 2 Oct 2009, 10:34, closed)

click
for the mental picture of the ox like farting and the fact you have alerted me to the new ale from my old local :)

once i get to the hostalry near me that sells coniston ales i shall join you in cattle impressions
(DreddPirateBob has watched every scifi film ever on, Fri 2 Oct 2009, 20:57, closed)