Three Wednesdays in Norwich
Once upon a time in the sleepy hamlet with aspirations of being a city that is Norwich (former Capital of England, apparently - presumably this was before the Rest Of The World beyond the borders of Norfolk had been discovered), there was quite a decent rock night to be found at a little club called Zoom. I should stress that Zoom was to little as Gordon Ramsay's ego is to large; the first time I went there, having spent the previous two years frequenting the mighty Nottingham Rock City, I literally walked around the club in twenty seconds and asked "where's the rest of it?"

But that's not the point. When I lived in the man-flat of hideous hilarity, myself and my flatmates Michael and Tim got into the habit of spending our Wednesday nights jaunting down to Zoom and getting horribly drunk. One time I was so lashed I think I tried to convince someone that Metallica hadn't lost it (circa 1998. Post-Load and, gods forgive me, Reload). Dearie me.

Good times, then. One night as we staggered home at 2am, Tim declared with utter conviction that he needed a piss, and he needed this piss with greater urgency than the remaining distance to the flat would permit. So he turned around, faced the wall of the alley behind Jarrold's department store that we happened to have wandered up, and proceeded to relieve himself of about £8 of recycled Dutch lager. Now, you can probably guess what happened next; it was late, we were wankered, the sound of urine hitting brick could be heard; Michael and I suddenly needed a piss more than Russell Brand needs a wash. And a good kicking. That's also not the point.

As we left said alley and found ourselves back on a street sufficiently well-lit for each of us to check our jeans for splashback, Michael pointed out, for some ungodly reason, that the alley included another entrance to Jarrold's, and in this entrance was a letterbox. "I wish I'd pissed through that fucking letterbox", he slurred with worrying vehemence.

Tim and I were torn between wondering why - on earth - he would wish to piss through a letterbox (imagine if it was one of those spring-loaded jobs... could you summon the concentration and finger strength to keep it open whilst trollied?) and assuming that, as was often the case with Michael, the answer would be "why the fuck not?". The latter won out, so obviously, we goaded him into going back and doing so.

"Can't now, can I, no piss left. Next week"

And so almost exactly 7 days later we found ourselves in a similar position. But this time Tim had the presence aforethought to point out to Michael, when he decided to go to the toilet just before the club kicked out, that if he saved it up he could deposit his alcoholic discharge through Jarrold's letterbox. Tim was joking. Or so he claimed. Michael, of course, took it deadly seriously.

I've lived in Norwich for 13 years now and have never seen anyone so keen to get to Jarrold's as Michael was on that night.

Bold as brass, he strode up to the back door, opened the letterbox (not remotely spring-loaded, it appeared) and merrily pissed through it. The door was plate glass so we were permitted the glorious sight of Michael's wee arcing gracefully through the air to create an impressively sizeable puddle on the carpet within. I have expected him to have shed a stone or two when he finally extracted himself from Norwich's premier department store.

I wish I could tell you that the worst part was hearing Michael call me and Tim a pair of fannies when our immediately subsequent need to piss was physically manifested against a wall instead of through the same letterbox.

I wish I could tell you that the worst part was Michael's insistence that we go back to Jarrold's the next day so he could see how much the stench of his piss had infected the interior of the store.

But the WORST part came on the third successive Wednesday, when, drunk as fuck and thoroughly wound up by Michael's claims to be the manliest of us all (he was from Luton, for fucks sakes) because he was prepared to defile a carpet through a letterbox, Tim and I were absolutely prepared to follow his reprehensible example. All three of us marched up to the back door, all three of us propped the letterbox open and, almost simultaneously, reached for our flies.

The letterbox was not especially wide.

Thank every conceivable deity, we realised what we were about to do just in time, gave each other a remarkably sheepish look, and ambled off to separate corners of the alley to unload our bladders. Is anyone else really starting to need a piss as a result of reading this? I feel like I could fill a paddling pool.

To alleviate the tension, I joked that we had narrowly avoided complete protonic reversal. I was shocked and appalled that neither of them got this.

"You know... if we'd crossed the streams..."


Apologies for crap punchline, this story is actually 100% true
(Darth Foxtrot A one-man army dedicated to making fetch happen, Tue 12 Oct 2010, 17:03, 9 replies)

How could they not get that?
Poor sod at Jarrolds though.
Never sure what they sell there, or how they manage to keep going when there is a John Lewis in the town.
( Mrs Entity is in hiding., Tue 12 Oct 2010, 18:19, closed)

Your knowledge of Norwich is impressive
Don't tell me there's more than one of us here?
(Darth Foxtrot A one-man army dedicated to making fetch happen, Wed 13 Oct 2010, 8:39, closed)

'Premier Department Store', pah! House of Lasers is much more upmarket, you know.
Ironically, Jarrold's actual toilet is pretty conveniently placed for a mid-shopping trip piss. Where was this Zoom, then?
( SigmaX0 Dear Die Hard. You rock!, Wed 13 Oct 2010, 8:45, closed)

It was sort of next door to the old ABC cinema on Prince of Wales Road
All of which has now been swallowed by the garish monument to chavvy excess that is Mercy
(Darth Foxtrot A one-man army dedicated to making fetch happen, Wed 13 Oct 2010, 9:13, closed)

YAY for Norwich
And I agree about Mercy. I would not be displeased if that place burned down on a Saturday night and wiped out the entire chav population of Norwich in one go.
(porkinator is a Rock n Roll nerd!, Wed 13 Oct 2010, 10:57, closed)

Whilst this is obviously a brilliant idea,
if it actually happens the finger of blame is going to be pointed directly at you now mate :-)
(Darth Foxtrot A one-man army dedicated to making fetch happen, Wed 13 Oct 2010, 11:11, closed)

Mercy > Optic
Obviously they're both awful. But at least Mercy doesn't think it's 'suave'.
( SigmaX0 Dear Die Hard. You rock!, Wed 13 Oct 2010, 13:39, closed)

Don't cross the streams
Was my first thought when I got to that point. You need smarter friends. Or nerdier ones.
(CactusZack Shaved his coin purse on, Tue 12 Oct 2010, 20:38, closed)

Norwich is my home town
I hate having to take the missus when I go back as she always wants to go in the Colemans mustard shop in the royal parade and will then lose the car in St Andrews.
( Dervel OTBC, Wed 13 Oct 2010, 16:45, closed)