Coach Craps.
Non-stopping coach from Bristol to London, with my hubby & the Dad-in-Law, on the way back from the Christening of the the latest bundle of joy produced by one of my many Catholic Sister-in-Laws.

Naturally, a large amount of drink was consumed at the post-ceremony dinner. And what does drink make people want to do, kids? That's right. Wee. Lots.

Unfortunately, about half an hour into the journey, hubby dearest, who would shit in front of the Queen herself, should the need take him, decides it's a good time to drop the kids off at the pool. The result? Toilet blocked by the unflushable Log of Death. And as the toilet door on this particular coach was faulty, & would not close properly, the entire coach was treated to the fragrant aroma for the remainder of the journey. Which naturally involved a long delay on a hot motorway due to traffic problems.

I, like most of the other passengers, was not brave enough to use the toilet, despite the fact that eight pints of lager were causing liquid to back up to my eyeballs. By the time we got to Victoria coach station, I felt like my bladder was about to explode. So of course, our bags were the last to be unloaded, meaning that there was a sizeable line by the time I made it to the nearest women's kharzi. A queue mainly populated by other women from the same coach, who delighted in giving me evils. For a dump my husband took.

Next time I take him anywhere, I'm going to stick a damn cork up there first!

As a side-note, upon loudly letting one go on our holiday flight last year (causing the old lady across the aisle to have a coughing fit), he then proudly informed us all that we were shut in with his offering until the plane landed. Charming.

Length? Well, he does have some good points...
( Sylia Stingray is pilfering the biscuits on, Sat 31 May 2008, 15:46, Reply)