Not mine, but someone else's
known as "The Unpleasantness on the Railway".

This FoF had gone to a beer festival in the West Midlands, and had - as you'd expect - drunk long and hard. He was sober enough to get himself on the last train home, a type of train called a Sprinter. I suspect some irony there, but still...

All was well until twenty minutes into a 50 minute journey, when our hero realises that the 12 pints of old Scrotum he's imbibed are not sitting happily and want out. There is, of course, no toilet on a Sprinter, or wasn't back then, back then being nigh-on 20 years now.

After some thought, he realises he's not going to be able to make the rest of the journey intact. Being a gentleman, the thought of soiling the carriage (which is thankfully empty) is not acceptable. Jumping out at the next stop means being stranded there, this being the last train and all beer tokens having been spent. He's considering whether the arc of piss would be high enough to escape out of the carriage's only opening windows (the sort that open inwards at a slight angle at the top of the frame) when he spots an empty crisp bag.

Necessity is the mother of invention; our hero manages a somewhat clumsy piss-into-bag-then-hold-willy-shut-empty bag-out-of-window-whilst-train-is-rattling-along manoeuvre with some aplomb. Only issue is the volume of crisp bag as opposed to quantity of urine seeking escape. After three bags have been filled and emptied - the task not getting any easier as the bag now has a tendency to stick shut - the pressure on the bladder seems not to have abated at all. We all know what it's like having to stop mid-flow, imagine that process repeating frequently - his prostrate must have been the size of a small onion by this point.
And then, the worst thing of all occurs - the train starts slowing down. The lights of the station can be seen as the train comes to a halt. And into the carriage comes a family, Mum and Dad and their two young, female, offspring.
Our hero somehow pushes past them as they get on the train, hand in crotch, suffering agonies one can only guess at. He then floods the thankfully empty station, spraying like a fire hose trying to reach a tower block. The relief is so great he practically forgets the impending 8 mile walk home; until he realises he's also forgotten his backpack on the train containing such useful extras as wallet, walkman and house keys.
( I_Was_Mordred, Thu 29 May 2008, 15:37, Reply)