The Bad Toilet
I was about four, and it was widely known that I had to be tied down with a leash and electrocuted before I would use any public toilet facility. I also had a habit of holding it in, for days and days and maybe weeks, until every orifice was practically bulging with 'freshness'.

Anyway, I was about four and I was at this jumble sale in this mangy Scout Hut in some North Yorkshire village. The only available toilet was this Shop of Horrors that lurked behind a nasty wooden door. And I was holding it in.

'Do you need to go, son?' the nice parents told me.

'Nnnnnnnoo,' I said, leaving the nice parents all too aware of the lumps of doom that were gathering inside my buttocks.

'You're going anyway,' they said. And so I was dragged outside the toilet with the nasty horrible wooden door. Behind it, I heard sounds. There was also a notable stench. Someone was in there.

Eventually, out crept a hunched woman who was 857 years old and counting. She looked down at me and smiled a toothless grin, with her papyrus face.

What she neglected to tell me was that she hadn't flushed the toilet. In fact, it had no flush.

I can't remember exactly what I saw down there, but let's just say the bit in Stephen King's 'IT' where it says 'And Georgie saw the clown's face CHANGE' is pretty accurate.

The upshot of all this is that not only did I not poo that afternoon, I developed a morbid fear of toilets in general and couldn't poo in any of them. I was seven years old when the nice parents threw my potty in front of the lorry. Seven!

And I still have dreams about double-decker buses full of toilets, or huge toilet-rooms in hotels surrounded by Duplo blocks.

Horrid. Apologies for length.
(sjflangehound, Sat 3 Sep 2005, 14:42, Reply)