When was the last time you soiled yourself?

Last time, I was in Nepal, in winter (-10C), wearing thermal bottoms and a down jacket fastened to it. Big bloody winter trekking boots with , heading downhill towards the town of Namche Bazaar, a village of 400 houses (mostly empty), having knocked on a dozen doors, and drifted down a path, I spotted an outhouse perched on wooden poles. I relaxed. I was ready to open the door. Bloody big pad lock. I panicked. I filled my boots. Nightmare.
 
Last year during a charity cricket game I went into bat. Asked for middle and wicket and the second I took my stand I let a small one (that had been baking for a few minutes) go and the rest is without doubt the most I have ever disgraced myself. I put my hand up without facing a single ball and trudged off walking back to the pavilion like a cross between Noel Gallagher and Tina Turner.
 
I have developed an 'issue' with beer. I think I have become allergic to it. If I have a half, I'm fine, no problem. Usually, I can get away with a pint, though there's a moderate risk. Above that, it gives me the shits, no question.

I don't deny I really, really enjoy good beer, so this is a real hardship. Before I figured out the issue, it was a practice for a mate and me to drive out into the country, enjoy a civilised lunch and a couple of pints, and then go for a long walk in England's green and pleasant.

One day, we were about halfway around the circuit when I realised I needed to get back to the pub ASAP as I needed a shit. Then, within minutes, I realised that would not serve. So I told my mate to walk on while I found a convenient bush to semi-hide behind. I dropped my strides and kecks and squatted, and what I can only call projection diarrhoea flew out, forming a large pool some feet behind me. God, the stink! Anyway, I cleaned myself up as best I could with dock leaves, did my best to cover the evidence below some of the local vegetation, and fucked off, strangely conscious of the fact that a whole herd of cows had been staring at me throughout. I also realised that the A59 was a bit nearer than I had appreciated and that a keen-eyed traveller might have spotted what I was doing. (The cover was distinctly limited.)

After that, I started rationing the beer severely. I suspect the allergy, or whatever it is, is now largely eased as my gut has had quite a long rest. But the thought of another experience like that puts me right off drinking too much. You can't repeat that performance in Deansgate, can you?
 
I remember filling my Bill Grundies in a beach bar in Greece and leaving them in the unisex toilet bin & half cleaning myself up. It was in the centre of the bar and the sea breeze wafted the foul stench through the night air, the DJ tunes being occasionally punctuated by girls screaming as they entered the single toilet room and crying as they hurriedly left.
 
Why does the site of one’s own front door lead to a inability to make one’s keys work? You can be holding onto a log all the way home on the tram and all the way walking home off the tram but for that 20 seconds or so it takes to open the front door it is nigh on impossible to keep it within.
 
BrianW said:
I have developed an 'issue' with beer. I think I have become allergic to it. If I have a half, I'm fine, no problem. Usually, I can get away with a pint, though there's a moderate risk. Above that, it gives me the shits, no question.

I don't deny I really, really enjoy good beer, so this is a real hardship. Before I figured out the issue, it was a practice for a mate and me to drive out into the country, enjoy a civilised lunch and a couple of pints, and then go for a long walk in England's green and pleasant.

One day, we were about halfway around the circuit when I realised I needed to get back to the pub ASAP as I needed a shit. Then, within minutes, I realised that would not serve. So I told my mate to walk on while I found a convenient bush to semi-hide behind. I dropped my strides and kecks and squatted, and what I can only call projection diarrhoea flew out, forming a large pool some feet behind me. God, the stink! Anyway, I cleaned myself up as best I could with dock leaves, did my best to cover the evidence below some of the local vegetation, and fucked off, strangely conscious of the fact that a whole herd of cows had been staring at me throughout. I also realised that the A59 was a bit nearer than I had appreciated and that a keen-eyed traveller might have spotted what I was doing. (The cover was distinctly limited.)

After that, I started rationing the beer severely. I suspect the allergy, or whatever it is, is now largely eased as my gut has had quite a long rest. But the thought of another experience like that puts me right off drinking too much. You can't repeat that performance in Deansgate, can you?
Click to expand...
sounds more like a gastro-bug or infection?
 
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