Well, the evening started with a nice dinner - prawn magi-noodles with
peas, cabbage, sweet corn and cauliflower.

I live in the seaside town of Bournemouth and on a Monday nights I always go for a long run along the beach. About 9.30pm started jogging down towards the beach, down the zig-zag of the cliff and onto the beach front. Now I always normally get to the bottom of
the zig zag path, facing the sea and go left along the beach, but as it was a really nice summers evening and loads was happening - I went to my right - heading towards Bournemouth Pier.

Just as I settled into my stride, my gut started to feel a bit heavy. It's nothing i thought - this run will probably do me good as i carried on passed all the foreign students - 100's of them having beach parties, BBQ's, playing football, vollyball, building fires, playing guitars - you get the idea. Very fucking busy!

So i got to the pier, got a whiff of donuts and hot-dogs and decided to run back the same way along the beach. From a content smile, my face now had an expression of slight anxiety on it as my gut really was starting to churn. Thinking to myself, 'I had fresh veggies - couldn't have been them.' But I was still convinced that I could
run for another few miles. the warning signs were there, i just ignored them (idiot!) as I jogged passed the beach public lavs. Bad move man, let me tell you.......

My situation deteriorated within minutes and before I knew it I had stopped completely, frantically looking all around for a place to squat!

Beads of sweat pouring off my face, I contemplated turning back to the
public toilets, but ruled that out as they were far too busy with foreign students and I didn't think i could make it that far. Thought about the sea, which would have been my right decision, but
decided to turn back and run up one of the zig zags, knowing that there was another public shit house at the top and knowing that it should only take me a minute to run up the cliff.

My pace quickened as i zoomed passed about 10 German students drinking
booze at the bottom of the zig zag, they all stopped talking when they saw the fear in my eyes. In these situations, all posture, style, composure and self respect vanishes as you have one thing on your mind, one mission, one goal - 'I must get to that pan!'

Left and right i ran up this zig zag, but it was no good, my gut really was inside out. The gradient coupled with my pace was turning my stomach too much. Everything around me was blocked out, I could hear nothing other than my heart pounding and my own deep breathing. I looked at the shrubbery by the side of the zig zag, but it was far too thick and overgrown. I looked back where i had just run, there was no one there on the path, I looked up and i could see no one. Surely it had to be.
"aarrrrggggghhhhh!" A thunderous explosion took place! with one swift move I had my shorts round my ankles and sloppy Joe spraying everywhere! I could hear voices coming towards me. My gut was still kicking out with menstruating pain. God, i wished it was raining as the orange deposit left was half over a drain, half over the wall
and about two thirds everywhere else. Had to react fast.....

I lunged behind me and grabbed what felt like twigs, branches and leaves. In a sheer state of panic and distress I didn't realise that all my energy and power must have left my body as i didn't pull any leaves off and was wiping my arse with my hand. This was no good, the Germans at the bottom had obviously heard me and were running up to have a laugh. i had to evacuate and so pulled up my trollies and legged it up towards the top of the Zig zag.

If I had planned it myself it couldn't have been worse timing as at the top with the toilets in sight there were about 20 Italian 16 year old boys and girls drinking hooch and vodka. The cheeky twats, one of the boys felt it very funny to block my way by offering me a drink. He wasn't being aggressive, just wanted to get a laugh off his mates and impress the girls. I could understand this, but really didn't have time to interact with our European neighbours. They all started blabbering Italian and broken English at me offering me a drink. Surely they must have seen the expression of desperation on my face, I had sweat pouring over every part of my body, my gut twisting and
turning and i had my house keys in my right hand which was covered in HP sauce.

"No, no. You don't understand....I really NEED to wipe my arse!"

"oley oley, oley oley!"

"Listen guys, I know your having fun, but i've got a severe case of the Harlem Globe-trotters and pints of Lime Pickle dribbling down my leg, please get out of the way!"

"oley oley, oley oley!"

that was it man, I swear - politeness out the window, I HAD to get to that toilet.

"GET OUT OF MY WAY YOU LITTLE FUCK BEFORE I SMEAR CHUTNEY OVER YOU!!!!"

They all got the message after that and i think one of the girls got a bit of saliva in the face too as I was frothing with anger now! they parted way and i legged it through.

Finally made it to the dunny. But the damage was done, cleaned up my
wounds as best as possible, hid my boxer shorts round the back of the pan and washed my hands, arse, thighs and legs. The worst of the storm had passed, i knew it would be risky for the next 20 minute walk home, but it had to be done. Refueled myself with ammo - toilet paper and set off. No further problems although i did give my brothers toilet a good seeing to when I got there. bit of a shitty story i know, but funny looking back on it.

Stay tuned for my next escapade:

Rob and his quest for the hole in the ground.

Or keep an eye out for my autobiography......

"When and Where".............shitting yourself, the complete guide.

Adios amigos and always remember the importance of toilet paper.