Didsbury Dave
Well-Known Member
- Joined
- 1 Feb 2007
- Messages
- 38,000
BlueinCumbria said:
Class, pure class.
10/10
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When was the last time you soiled yourself?
- Thread starter bluemonday
- Start date
Class, pure class.
10/10
DannyBoy2890
Well-Known Member
I presume this falls under the same category so here goes.
I was recently holidaying in egypt and on my 19th birthday, (28th august) we visited the pyramids/museum in cairo.
On the morning we went i felt a bit iffy and had stomach cramps. got to the airport in sharm el sheikh to get a plane up to cairo.
All was well until we got on the plane, the plane was so basic, without toilets and i needed the bog big time.
Sat there uncomfortbaly for about 45 minutes and went to the toilet in cairo airport. However when people advised me before about people begging so much i didnt consider that fact when i needed a shit. theres people stood in every toilet you go in and they stand there with bog roll and ask you for money to have the privaledge of using bog roll, and when you get the bog roll the piece isnt big enough to blow your nose on. To cut a long story short, i had the shits all day and had no form of bog roll on me at the time i needed it.
I was in a a tour group of around 15 people and they must have all thought i was special. I must have used the toilet about 40 times that day. My arse was fucking killing and i was rushing about the museum of mummies like a potential terrorist. I managed to grab about 3 rolls of toilet roll and popped them in my bag on my third visit in the toilet whilst mido at the door begging was busy.
Not the best experience ever.
I was recently holidaying in egypt and on my 19th birthday, (28th august) we visited the pyramids/museum in cairo.
On the morning we went i felt a bit iffy and had stomach cramps. got to the airport in sharm el sheikh to get a plane up to cairo.
All was well until we got on the plane, the plane was so basic, without toilets and i needed the bog big time.
Sat there uncomfortbaly for about 45 minutes and went to the toilet in cairo airport. However when people advised me before about people begging so much i didnt consider that fact when i needed a shit. theres people stood in every toilet you go in and they stand there with bog roll and ask you for money to have the privaledge of using bog roll, and when you get the bog roll the piece isnt big enough to blow your nose on. To cut a long story short, i had the shits all day and had no form of bog roll on me at the time i needed it.
I was in a a tour group of around 15 people and they must have all thought i was special. I must have used the toilet about 40 times that day. My arse was fucking killing and i was rushing about the museum of mummies like a potential terrorist. I managed to grab about 3 rolls of toilet roll and popped them in my bag on my third visit in the toilet whilst mido at the door begging was busy.
Not the best experience ever.
Absolutely fantastic thread - I had to re-register in order to post my own contribution!
Many years back when I was in my late teens and a student, I went down to London to watch a cup match against Brentford, it must have been in the early nineties I reckon? We went by train (I was based in Leicester at the time) and it was one of those days when from mid-afternoon onwards my stomach was sending out warning signals that it wasn't as calm as it should have been - a combination, I suspect of beer and student fast-food. Anyway, not helped by another dose of ale and junk-food before kick-off, I could feel my insides bubbling up during the match and at the final whistle, I was in urgent need of a trip to the bog.
I had no desire to use what were pretty primative toilets at the ground and even less desire to be dropping a load in a filthy bog as the ground was emptying, so I foolishly allowed myself to tell my complaining stomach that I'd deal with the situation when we reached the train station (although the toilets there were likely to be little better, in truth).
A mate (who shall remain nameless for fear of reprisal) convinced me that the walk back to Ealing tube station was "no more than ten minutes" ... about half an hour later we finally arrived at the station by which time I could scarcely put one foot in front of the other and the spasming pains in my guts were threatening to leave me down on all fours. With sweat pouring from my forehead to the extent that I must have looked like I'd been out in the rain all evening, I located the ticket office and breathlessly pleaded to the station assistant to point me in the direction of the closest bog, to which he replied "there aren't any toilets here!" leaving me clutching the seat of my jeans like a 4-year old gagging for school playtime.
WTF!! No bogs!!? On the point of bursting into tears of anguish, I begged like never before and he pointed me to the other side of the road where there sat one of those tardis-like contraptions requiring coins to gain entry. I hobbled across to find that the three lighted buttons (vacant/occupied/out of order) were all lit up in shades of green, red and amber and the door was firmly sealed shut. FFS!!
I hobbled back to the station where yet again, my erstwhile mate persuasively cajoled me to travel just one stop as he knew there were toilets at the next station (how he knew, I have no idea). As we waited on the platform, my straining bowels decided they would be less easily convinced than me and that further delay would be intolerable. In anticipation of the events of the next sixty seconds, I resignedly dropped to a squatting position, resting on my haunches partly to ease the by-now stabbing pains in my belly and partly, I suspect, to try and lessen the disaster that was milli-seconds away although probably rational thinking had long since passed me by.
It wasn't quite a case of Vesuvius erupting in my underpants - more a surge of molten lava quietly but effortlessly spewing forth to turn my nether regions into a burning mass of filth. I must have remained in a squatting position until the deed was done for the next I recall was that a train was approaching the platform and I was being urged to stand by my wide-eyed pals. As I did so, the backs of my legs became enveloped in the same rich warmth that my pants had succumbed to and before I knew it, my socks were becoming cemented to my ankles.
With me wet and defeated, we got on the train but before reaching the next stop, others in the carriage were starting to cover their mouths with their hands and as the doors opened next-time-round, people were literally falling over each other to reach the sanctity of fresh air.
To cut a very long story short, it was decided (for me and by me) that we should get off at Hammersmith station and there in a painfully inadequate so-called toilet that reeked of piss, I was forced to remove and bin my pants, jeans and socks and try and clean up as best as I could with one mate standing guard at the door to keep unwelcome desperates out (I never did find out if anyone actually tried to come in) and another mate scouring the nearby shops to try and find some trousers for me.
I ended up travelling back to the mainline station in a pair of 'borrowed' underpants (please don't ask!!!) and a jacket tied round my waist before I managed to use the shower facilities at the station and replace the trousers for the journey home.
...and thereby ends the tale of the day I shit myself in West London!!!
(It's a shame no-one is brave enough to start another thread called "the worst you've ever needed to take a piss!" I could tell a real corker about that, revolving around a wedding ceremony after a few pre-event beers!!!!)
Many years back when I was in my late teens and a student, I went down to London to watch a cup match against Brentford, it must have been in the early nineties I reckon? We went by train (I was based in Leicester at the time) and it was one of those days when from mid-afternoon onwards my stomach was sending out warning signals that it wasn't as calm as it should have been - a combination, I suspect of beer and student fast-food. Anyway, not helped by another dose of ale and junk-food before kick-off, I could feel my insides bubbling up during the match and at the final whistle, I was in urgent need of a trip to the bog.
I had no desire to use what were pretty primative toilets at the ground and even less desire to be dropping a load in a filthy bog as the ground was emptying, so I foolishly allowed myself to tell my complaining stomach that I'd deal with the situation when we reached the train station (although the toilets there were likely to be little better, in truth).
A mate (who shall remain nameless for fear of reprisal) convinced me that the walk back to Ealing tube station was "no more than ten minutes" ... about half an hour later we finally arrived at the station by which time I could scarcely put one foot in front of the other and the spasming pains in my guts were threatening to leave me down on all fours. With sweat pouring from my forehead to the extent that I must have looked like I'd been out in the rain all evening, I located the ticket office and breathlessly pleaded to the station assistant to point me in the direction of the closest bog, to which he replied "there aren't any toilets here!" leaving me clutching the seat of my jeans like a 4-year old gagging for school playtime.
WTF!! No bogs!!? On the point of bursting into tears of anguish, I begged like never before and he pointed me to the other side of the road where there sat one of those tardis-like contraptions requiring coins to gain entry. I hobbled across to find that the three lighted buttons (vacant/occupied/out of order) were all lit up in shades of green, red and amber and the door was firmly sealed shut. FFS!!
I hobbled back to the station where yet again, my erstwhile mate persuasively cajoled me to travel just one stop as he knew there were toilets at the next station (how he knew, I have no idea). As we waited on the platform, my straining bowels decided they would be less easily convinced than me and that further delay would be intolerable. In anticipation of the events of the next sixty seconds, I resignedly dropped to a squatting position, resting on my haunches partly to ease the by-now stabbing pains in my belly and partly, I suspect, to try and lessen the disaster that was milli-seconds away although probably rational thinking had long since passed me by.
It wasn't quite a case of Vesuvius erupting in my underpants - more a surge of molten lava quietly but effortlessly spewing forth to turn my nether regions into a burning mass of filth. I must have remained in a squatting position until the deed was done for the next I recall was that a train was approaching the platform and I was being urged to stand by my wide-eyed pals. As I did so, the backs of my legs became enveloped in the same rich warmth that my pants had succumbed to and before I knew it, my socks were becoming cemented to my ankles.
With me wet and defeated, we got on the train but before reaching the next stop, others in the carriage were starting to cover their mouths with their hands and as the doors opened next-time-round, people were literally falling over each other to reach the sanctity of fresh air.
To cut a very long story short, it was decided (for me and by me) that we should get off at Hammersmith station and there in a painfully inadequate so-called toilet that reeked of piss, I was forced to remove and bin my pants, jeans and socks and try and clean up as best as I could with one mate standing guard at the door to keep unwelcome desperates out (I never did find out if anyone actually tried to come in) and another mate scouring the nearby shops to try and find some trousers for me.
I ended up travelling back to the mainline station in a pair of 'borrowed' underpants (please don't ask!!!) and a jacket tied round my waist before I managed to use the shower facilities at the station and replace the trousers for the journey home.
...and thereby ends the tale of the day I shit myself in West London!!!
(It's a shame no-one is brave enough to start another thread called "the worst you've ever needed to take a piss!" I could tell a real corker about that, revolving around a wedding ceremony after a few pre-event beers!!!!)
BlueMoon93
Well-Known Member
Fair play to your mates Matty, they helped you out big time.
Danny Hoekman
Well-Known Member
At the Schalke game. Had to leave my boxers in the toilets and missed our second goal whilst 'cleaning up'.
droylsdenblue
Well-Known Member
mattyc said:Absolutely fantastic thread - I had to re-register in order to post my own contribution!
Many years back when I was in my late teens and a student, I went down to London to watch a cup match against Brentford, it must have been in the early nineties I reckon? We went by train (I was based in Leicester at the time) and it was one of those days when from mid-afternoon onwards my stomach was sending out warning signals that it wasn't as calm as it should have been - a combination, I suspect of beer and student fast-food. Anyway, not helped by another dose of ale and junk-food before kick-off, I could feel my insides bubbling up during the match and at the final whistle, I was in urgent need of a trip to the bog.
I had no desire to use what were pretty primative toilets at the ground and even less desire to be dropping a load in a filthy bog as the ground was emptying, so I foolishly allowed myself to tell my complaining stomach that I'd deal with the situation when we reached the train station (although the toilets there were likely to be little better, in truth).
A mate (who shall remain nameless for fear of reprisal) convinced me that the walk back to Ealing tube station was "no more than ten minutes" ... about half an hour later we finally arrived at the station by which time I could scarcely put one foot in front of the other and the spasming pains in my guts were threatening to leave me down on all fours. With sweat pouring from my forehead to the extent that I must have looked like I'd been out in the rain all evening, I located the ticket office and breathlessly pleaded to the station assistant to point me in the direction of the closest bog, to which he replied "there aren't any toilets here!" leaving me clutching the seat of my jeans like a 4-year old gagging for school playtime.
WTF!! No bogs!!? On the point of bursting into tears of anguish, I begged like never before and he pointed me to the other side of the road where there sat one of those tardis-like contraptions requiring coins to gain entry. I hobbled across to find that the three lighted buttons (vacant/occupied/out of order) were all lit up in shades of green, red and amber and the door was firmly sealed shut. FFS!!
I hobbled back to the station where yet again, my erstwhile mate persuasively cajoled me to travel just one stop as he knew there were toilets at the next station (how he knew, I have no idea). As we waited on the platform, my straining bowels decided they would be less easily convinced than me and that further delay would be intolerable. In anticipation of the events of the next sixty seconds, I resignedly dropped to a squatting position, resting on my haunches partly to ease the by-now stabbing pains in my belly and partly, I suspect, to try and lessen the disaster that was milli-seconds away although probably rational thinking had long since passed me by.
It wasn't quite a case of Vesuvius erupting in my underpants - more a surge of molten lava quietly but effortlessly spewing forth to turn my nether regions into a burning mass of filth. I must have remained in a squatting position until the deed was done for the next I recall was that a train was approaching the platform and I was being urged to stand by my wide-eyed pals. As I did so, the backs of my legs became enveloped in the same rich warmth that my pants had succumbed to and before I knew it, my socks were becoming cemented to my ankles.
With me wet and defeated, we got on the train but before reaching the next stop, others in the carriage were starting to cover their mouths with their hands and as the doors opened next-time-round, people were literally falling over each other to reach the sanctity of fresh air.
To cut a very long story short, it was decided (for me and by me) that we should get off at Hammersmith station and there in a painfully inadequate so-called toilet that reeked of piss, I was forced to remove and bin my pants, jeans and socks and try and clean up as best as I could with one mate standing guard at the door to keep unwelcome desperates out (I never did find out if anyone actually tried to come in) and another mate scouring the nearby shops to try and find some trousers for me.
I ended up travelling back to the mainline station in a pair of 'borrowed' underpants (please don't ask!!!) and a jacket tied round my waist before I managed to use the shower facilities at the station and replace the trousers for the journey home.
...and thereby ends the tale of the day I shit myself in West London!!!
(It's a shame no-one is brave enough to start another thread called "the worst you've ever needed to take a piss!" I could tell a real corker about that, revolving around a wedding ceremony after a few pre-event beers!!!!)
Beat that if you can!! quality.
Didsbury Dave
Well-Known Member
- Joined
- 1 Feb 2007
- Messages
- 38,000
Good post Matty, and I think you are the forst to have soiled yourself at a city match.
The Fat el Hombre
Well-Known Member
Awesome matty. That must have been a very humbling experience
mancitymick
Well-Known Member
Stop it I am still laughing!!Danny Hoekman said:At the Schalke game. Had to leave my boxers in the toilets and missed our second goal whilst 'cleaning up'.