There are two notable incidents that spring to mind where I have been hit with this particular tragedy.
The first one happened in my local boozer at the time. It was in the mid 90s I had just completed a tour of duty being a holiday rep in Zante. Suffering from IBS my guts can cause me alot of grief so am fairly wary and am generally careful to remain in dash range of a shithouse when the guts are not happy. Remarkably in the 7 months I was in Zante when plenty got the odd bout of tummy upsets my guts behaved wonderfully despite the amount of Amstell passing through. I suspect the Greek diet suited me.
Alas it was all to end within hours of setting foot back in blighty. An afternoon reps flight home of course involved a huge amount of alcohol, and I was full of the joys, after all hadnt seen mum and dad for months my bird would also be waiting at Manchester airport after she flew home a couple of weeks earlier, equally I was going to have my first English pint...or several, followed by my first Curry from the indian in 7 months. Life was good.
Got back home to mum and dads feeling a bit pissed but ready to go to the pub, I was however feeling a little bit dehydrated and decided to quaff two pints of water out of the tap. It was when I was stood at the bar waiting patiently as the bar maids did battle with the Friday crowds that I felt significant gut rumbles, and the approach of what I thought was a very impatient fart. As there were birds about I thought it best to slide it out quietly if possible and relaxed the ring and gave a little push, out it all came. Instantly I knew there was no hope of running repairs and my first English pint was going to have to wait.
The awkward walk back from the bar to where the bird was sitting, I briefly explained the problem to her, to which she pissed her sides laughing and thoroughly enjoyed my uncomfortable walk back to my folks, no sympathy at all given, it had happened to her in Zante to which I had spent at least a week laughing about and taking the piss. Gutted.
Ironically my guts were awful for about three weeks afterwards, only to settle down when I fucked off to Thailand......
The second catastrophe took place at the Royal International Air Tattoo at Fairford. For once I had succumbed to a fairly heavy session with the Vulcan ground crew followed by an unwise visit to the Kebab shop and purchased a large mixed Kebab with lots of hot chilli sauce. Following morning am not feeling great and its pissing down with rain. Whilst taking cover under the jet (it was a marvellous umbrella) my guts started to cramp, the kebab had decided to leave and wasnt going to hang around. With great haste I made off into the storm, despite the weather the public thunder boxes all had queues so flashing my Vulcan Id I dived into the contol tower.
Fate then dealt me a cruel blow as the bog in there was also occupied. I am stood there pissing sweat guts screaming when non other than RED 10 (RED ARROWS) comes out of the trap looking very dapper and greatly relieved. The steps taken to the trap were too much and the ring piece gave up seconds away from redemption. What made matters worse Red 10 had clearly eaten similar to us lot the previous night and it fucking lifted me up by the nostrils causing me to throw my ring up as well the dirty bastard. Halfway through the clean up the guts started again and my arse sounded much like a Spitfire starting up.
I must have been in there for about 15 minutes and as many others resorted to casting my undies into the cistern. I often wonder if they have been discovered yet.
