Not quite a toilet story..
... more one concerning the lack of one.

Glastonbury 2004. Wondering around the busy commercial/food area with my wife. I felt teh telltale churn in my gut that was telling me that an anal waterfall was imminent. Oh dear. SO I headed towards the nearest toilet-block, beginning to panic slightly, because it was a fair distance and there would be queues of the large variety when I got there.

Another nasty churn of the guts. Condition critical. I clenched hard, and continued waddling to the loos. Not looking good.

Yet another churn. I am not going to hold this puppy back for much longer. By now I was still 500 metres from the bogs, and plainly not going to make it.

I sent my wife ahead, as I did not want her seeing what was about to transpire, and found the most secluded patch I could find that was in 30 seconds waddle of where I was. It was a grassy patch right next to a burger van and a little fenced of stream. In full view of everyone.

I squatted and did what needed to be done as quickly as possible and exited hastily, to rejoin my wife. Not many people had walked past while I was comitting this shameful act.

While walking away, my wife told me of an argument she had just overheard:

"... yes he was, that bloke was taking a shit."
"No he wasn't."
"Yes he bloody was - why don't you go back there and take a look. Right next to the burger van."
"No way..."
(lardaholics anonymous, Tue 6 Sep 2005, 15:26, Reply)