20 years ago, late teens I pulled a girl who I'd liked all through my school days. This was my time to make a lasting impression.

When the pub closed we ended up at her parent’s basement flat and after a bit of mischief she decided to sleep on the sofa, whilst I stayed in her bedroom. As per my normal routine I woke up at 8am and needed a crap. I walked down the hall to find the only bathroom locked with someone showering. Shit, I'd never met her parents and doubted they knew I was in the house, so I could hardly knock and tell her old man to hurry up as I needed a shit. I was beginning to panic a little now as I got back to the bedroom and weighed up the options. I calculated I had about 3 to 5 minutes. There was a wardrobe, a door to the corridor and a window out on to a small back yard which was also overlooked by the kitchen and lounge. The shitting in the courtyard was not an option, I could see movement in the kitchen. Escape on to the road was out, It was a busy road and I wouldn't have time to find anywhere to shit. The dad was still showering, I was into countdown, there was no aborting. I opened up the wardrobe and found a hockey stick and one of those long thin prescription bags from the chemist, which I emptied of its contents. Squatting with my back against the bedroom door I unleashed a lot, I mean a lot of warm shit into the prescription bag. I was now alone in a bedroom stinking of shit, holding a heavy bag of turds. I needed to leave but I still couldn't get into the toilet to get rid of my shit. Rolling up the prescription bag to seal up my goodies I decided my only option was to place it gently into the wardrobe under the hockey stick and close the door. I never did hear of what happened to my shit. Poor girl.

I met a Blue once in the pub who admitted he pissed himself when dickov scored the equaliser at Wembley.

Fair play to the lad, that shows passion.

Toilet story - not city related but thought worthwhile sharing.

I had a big meeting with a major important client.

The meet was at his premises somewhere south of buxton at 9am. He is very rich and spends most of his time on his yacht in the med. He wanted me there prompt so we could have the meeting and he could fly back to the med early afternoon.

i had had a curry the night before and felt fine setting off from my house but going over the hills i felt the first twinges of stomach cramp.

By the time i got there i was desparate for a crap.

I walked in a ten to 9 and client said "Good your early we'll get started".

I said i would just like to use your toilet and went off to the bog which was at the very far end of the building.

I dropped my trolleys and as soon as i was sat i empied my guts big style.

Then my heart sank - that horrible felling as i realised there was no paper.

It was the cleanest barest toilet i had ever seen.

No towels . No bin . Nothing. Just 3 walls a door a toilet and a wash basin.

I decided that walking back up to the other end of the building with my pants around my ankles asking for toilet paper would not give a good impression.

Looked at my watch 8-55am. Think quick.

Decided had no option. Took off my shoes and socks.

Wiped with one sock and then rolled it up inside the other.

Stuffed the sockball into my pocket. Shoes back on and then did one of the most important meetings of my life (for 3 hours) with shitty socks in my pocket.

There is a field between buxton and manchester where to this day a pair of my socks are slowly bio-degrading.

Went to Bolton years ago, at the old ground, (Burnden Park) Seven of us in a Fiat Panda. We were all pissed up after a good morning on the drink at the Stoneys in Timperley. Car broke down on Barton bridge, but we got there eventually. Anyway, it was pissing down and we were in the open end. After 25 minutes of getting pissed on at a mind numbing match, I piped up I needed a piss. Lo and behold, all my mates went to the bog at the same time. Steve fucking Daley scored the only goal of the game while we were in the bog. Car fucked, piss wet through. Happy days.

Toilet story - not city related but thought worthwhile sharing.

I had a big meeting with a major important client.

The meet was at his premises somewhere south of buxton at 9am. He is very rich and spends most of his time on his yacht in the med. He wanted me there prompt so we could have the meeting and he could fly back to the med early afternoon.

i had had a curry the night before and felt fine setting off from my house but going over the hills i felt the first twinges of stomach cramp.

By the time i got there i was desparate for a crap.

I walked in a ten to 9 and client said "Good your early we'll get started".

I said i would just like to use your toilet and went off to the bog which was at the very far end of the building.

I dropped my trolleys and as soon as i was sat i empied my guts big style.

Then my heart sank - that horrible felling as i realised there was no paper.

It was the cleanest barest toilet i had ever seen.

No towels . No bin . Nothing. Just 3 walls a door a toilet and a wash basin.

I decided that walking back up to the other end of the building with my pants around my ankles asking for toilet paper would not give a good impression.

Looked at my watch 8-55am. Think quick.

Decided had no option. Took off my shoes and socks.

Wiped with one sock and then rolled it up inside the other.

Stuffed the sockball into my pocket. Shoes back on and then did one of the most important meetings of my life (for 3 hours) with shitty socks in my pocket.

There is a field between buxton and manchester where to this day a pair of my socks are slowly bio-degrading.

Typical City! No thought for the fans....fancy scoring then!

Can't begin to imagine how many times i've missed goals due to trips to the khazi. Best has to be me brother tho who managed to see only one goal out of six scored in a 4-2 win.