Inter-railing

In 1981 or so, an interail card cost about £120 and gave you free unlimited rail travel throughout Europe. I loved them and being a loner, used to travel about by myself, staying in youth hostels and having fun.

One time I'd been travelling in Germany, Heidelburg etc, living cheaply and eating mainly bread and tinned tuna. German bread is wonderful stuff. A loaf weighs about a pound, is very dark brown, full of rye, keeps fresh for ages and tastes good too. A couple of slices is a full meal. The only problem being that as it is 99.4% roughage, it moves very slowly through the old digestive tract. In fact I went about four days without a crap though I was eating regularly.

When I'd had enough of Germany, I moved south to Italy and my first stop was Venice (ah, Venice), where I stayed at the youth hostel. I checked in, found my bunk, had a wash etc. and got chatting with a couple of nice girls from Birmingham. We all ate at the canteen that night and the food was good, cheap and plentiful...and Italian. Loads of pasta cooked with loads of olive oil and a side salad with a nice oily salad dressing. I went to bed full and contented, though feeling a little bloated.

In the morning, after a bread and coffee breakfast, we were kicked out so that they could clean the rooms. I headed for the Peggy Guggenheim museum - home to many fine works of modern art. I got there to find that it didn't open until 11am, not a problem, I wasn't in a rush. It was sunny, it was 10 o'clock; I found a bench nearby overlooking the Grand Canal, sat down, got a book out of my army surplus 'man bag' and rolled myself a cig.

As soon as I took a drag, I felt something stir. I don't think there was much mention in the '1st cig' answers of the power of tobacco to move guts, well it does. My guts moved into first gear and slowly let out the clutch. Italian oil had met German bread and, with a helpful word from Old Holborn, told it to move along please. I looked at my watch, 10.15: still 45 minutes to go. I pondered the wisdom of looking for a toilet elsewhere, but as every movement was proving hazardous, I judged it safer to wait where I was and rush to the loo as soon as the gallery opened. By 10.30 I was clenching so hard I had cramp in my buttocks. By 10.45 my vision was going blurry and I was moaning out loud....at 11 O'clock, I was first through the door - I'd got the right money ready for my ticket, almost ran from the ticket office and flew straight for the bog. There was just one toilet, one sink and a towel, I slammed the door shut, locked it and dropped my trousers and pants as I turned to drop my arse on the seat.

It was the most wonderful shit of my life. Ten pounds of well-digested German rye bread came out like an ocean liner sliding majestically down the slipway on its grand launch. It made a similar splash as it hit the water and, in all probability, you could have cracked a bottle of champagne on it. I could even hear the cheering of the crowds and see their brightly coloured flags being waved - children perched on their fathers' shoulders for a better view.

I practically floated off the bog with the lifting of the weight. There were tears in my eyes, my legs were shaky and my poor anus was slowly easing closed again, having been stretched to limits usually reserved for the poor young victims of well-endowed peados. Savouring the moment I gingerly wiped and checked for blood - nothing but Guiness-black poo. I sat back and luxuriated for a minute. That was when I heard a voice from outside the toilet say in a worried American accent:

"I don't know, I saw a young man go in a some time ago"

Feeling euphoric, I smiled broadly to myself in the mirror as I pulled up the now-loose-fitting jeans, took my time, washed my face, dried my hands and rolled myself a fresh ciggie for when I got out. I stuck the roly behind my ear and emerged smiling broadly to an audience of geriactic yanks queing up with their legs crossed.

I do like a bit of culture.
(Che Grimsdale Best before:, Thu 27 Mar 2008, 16:21, 3 replies)

Completely agree with you about the 1st cigarette.
And the shakey leg thing too.
( Bohica Anne Frank's Bukkaki Tentacle Storm, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 14:31, closed)

*sniff*
what a beautiful end to a story

it moved me
( flirting with badgers What? It sounded good at the time., Sat 29 Mar 2008, 1:00, closed)

I love the ocean liner imagery
I've had ones like that before. The feeling as you achieve 'launch' is quite wonderful.
(pmsc, Mon 31 Mar 2008, 17:26, closed)