August 23rd, 2011

Here be dragons

Posted in Other Stuff by 200

So Mrs Weeks, the kiddies and I got back from our holiday. While Mrs W put the kettle on I checked the mail, the kids either made for the TV or Facebook or both.

I had two letters from HM Customs & Exise. The first one was summary of the child tax credit I was allowed last year. The second one was confirmation that the allowance this year amounted to zero pounds zero pence. Good old government, somebody has to pay for those cancelled riot-related holidays.

After the general depression of reading the mail I decided to retire to what I√ā¬†euphemistically√ā¬†call my ‘upstairs office’ – I have a downstairs office too. Second to sleeping in my own bed after a holiday, I like using my own toilet for the first time in 2 weeks.

So, magazine in hand, I made my way upstairs, stopping briefly to admire the new wallpaper & painted woodwork in the master bedroom, which had been redecorated whilst we were away. For the last few years we’ve paid someone to decorate various parts of the house when we’ve been on holiday to minimse the disruption.

The guy who we always use had, as usual, done a good job, so it was with a smile on my face with thoughts of HMR&C now fading into the distance I entered the bathroom.

It was when I lifted the lid that I discovered the decorator had left us more than glossy skirting boards; there, staring up at me was the biggest turd I had ever seen in my entire life. I almost jumped back, it was like walking round the corner right into the path of a huge grizzly bear.

I was simultaneously shocked, amazed and confused. How the bloody hell did that get out of a human being? It looked more like something a blue whale might have deposited. I wondered whether to check the house just in case the decorator had crawled away & died of some incredible rupture. Either that or he had an anal√ā¬†caesarean. I truly had seen bigger babies. I was sure a U-boat commander popped his head out the top of the turd and surrendered.

I called down to Mrs W and told her to deduct √ā¬£100 from his bill – we’d need to get the council contractors in to remove it and the child tax credits were no longer going to cut it. “It’s no good Mr Weeks, we’re going to have to remove the bathroom window to get it out of the house.”

I tentatively reached across the bowl to press the flush button, half expecting the bloody thing to leap up and drag me down the pan by the neck, the√ā¬†ignominy of being found with just my shoes sticking out of the toilet was too much.

I pushed the button on the cistern and to my absolute amazement the turd disappeared down the pipes & hopefully out into the bowels of the street. I made a mental note to call the people at the Thames Barrier just to make sure the thing was open. I prayed it was able to leave the sewage system from my house & out into the mix of everyone else in the street, the town, the country, I mean who would√ā¬†believe√ā¬†it wasn’t mine.

I suddenly wanted to return to the hotel to use their facilities once again, mentally traumatised against sitting on my own bog. How could I possibly spend 45 minutes doing nothing but reading on that toilet ever again?

I staggered off to the en suite wondering whether it was all real or I;d just awoken from some terrible nightmare. Still, it could have been worse I suppose, at least all the silver was still in place & it hadn’t been left on the pillow.

NB: This story is true, I have no idea whether I can look the decorator in the eye again.

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  1. Oi says:

    Thank you for sharing that with us!

    August 24th, 2011 at 01:16

  2. bill says:

    I was in hysterics reading that, 200. Then Oi’s comment put me over the top!

    Best laugh for ages.

    August 24th, 2011 at 02:50

  3. Barry says:

    I really hate text speak but LOL.

    I remeber a few years ago in the office I worked in we sometimes had the same thing. You would walk in to one of the stalls and look down and there is a turd so big you would have thought you would have heard the agonised scream of whoever laid it.

    August 24th, 2011 at 06:38

  4. Boy on a bike says:

    We had a bloke at school who did that so regularly, we named them after him.

    August 24th, 2011 at 08:20

  5. rafanon says:

    hilarious 200!

    August 24th, 2011 at 09:22

  6. Tom says:

    Love it. Very funny post LOL

    August 24th, 2011 at 09:22

  7. Dan H. says:

    In the Yorvik Viking museum in York lies a very special, and indeed very popular exhibit. It was discovered whilst excavations were under way under where Lloyds Bank now stands, in what appeared to be an old cess-pit. Vikings were a primarily village culture, and never quite managed to grasp that towns over a certain size need different things to villages, hence Yorvik was a village writ large, with lots of local cess-pits for disposal of sewage.

    One belonged to quite a rich man; rich enough that he could eat what he chose, and live off the very best processed foods. Not for him bran or fibre-rich foods, oh no. Nothing but the best grub for this chappie, which led to a certain health effect afterwards. He was constipated. He was really, really, truly incredibly consitpated, and the evidence survives to this day.

    Should you visit York’s viking museum, be sure to see the Lloyds Bank Turd!

    August 24th, 2011 at 11:03

  8. Ex-Peeler says:

    I must confess, I have “laid” an unsinkable one in the past.

    Very embarrassing if in the bathroom of your girlfriend’s parents house on the night you first meet them!

    Along a similar vein….On a toilet cubicle of a Belfast Police Station “Please flush twice-It’s a long way to the canteen!

    August 24th, 2011 at 14:26

  9. Tony F says:

    :-D !!

    August 24th, 2011 at 19:27

  10. 334Boss says:

    We had a person on camp many years ago, who ‘laid’ an enormous one each night. Nobody could catch him, so he became known as ‘The Phantom’
    Still talked about at reunions.

    August 24th, 2011 at 21:49

  11. R/T says:

    A long time ago in a galaxy, etc, Nutty Vern (I think) laid an absolute brahmer in the commish’s loo when he got caught short picking him up in the morning. If you believe the stories, it had to give the Met 48 hours notice (STGO ref there!) before it left the house!

    August 24th, 2011 at 21:53

  12. Boy on a bike says:

    Had a bloke at a previous office that I nicknamed “the phantom shitter”. He blocked the dunny every single day. Never found out who he was.

    August 27th, 2011 at 00:54

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