Boxing Day, 1996. Not strictly a toilet story, but it's one of my faves.
On a pub crawl with two friends. A serious pub crawl. I only live in a small town but we have, get this, 12 pubs, with 8 of them in a half-mile stretch of High Street. Oh yes!

So we proceed to have a double JD and coke in every single pub on the High Street. We finally get to the last one and we're feeling somewhat worse for wear. I saw my friend Dan go green, clamp his hand over his mouth and then run to the toilets trailing a fine spray of vomit behind him.

Finding this most amusing, my other friend and I laughed and continued drinking, until the landlord came over to us with the words "I think you had better take your mate home."

We went into the gents to find Dan slumped against the wash-hand basin, with his shirt off. I don't think I've ever seen so much vomit in my life. It was all over the place. And he's only a little chap too.

We managed (somehow) to get him home. The next day I got a call from him asking if I had put his clothes in the washing machine. I said no, of course not. It turned out that in his drunken state he had managed to wash all of his vomit-ridden clothes before he went to bed. Impressive!

The post-script to this story is that about 6 months later I got chucked out of the same pub by the same landlord for the same reason!

We don't tend to drink there now.
(MrC. Having the most boring username on b3ta since 2004, Sat 3 Sep 2005, 15:41, Reply)