Melbourne

The rest of our time with Reg and Jacinta was pretty much rained off.  We had very ambitious plans but the constant heavy rain dampened everyone's enthusiasm for doing anything other than sitting about and chatting.  I thoroughly enjoyed myself as I love a bit of a blether about nothing and both Reg and Jacinta have no end of good stories.  Reg was full of stories of the dodgy characters he had met while studying in Manchester (he does an excellent Shaun Ryder impression by the way) but my favourite story concerned his grandad who was a racing driver with a wicked sense of humour.  One time his grandad was flying over the channel next to a guy who was rather nervous about the whole thing.  Instead of giving the guy the usual it's-the-safest-form-of-travel shite, Reg's relative strapped his racing helmet on and innocently asked the guy, "Didn't they give you one when you came aboard???"  
 
We also got onto the subject of poo.  Well, it was inevitable really.  I don't know what it is about me really.  I seem to bring the poo out in everyone.  Reg told me a story I would love to recount, but won't (unless he gives me dispensation) and I told him my most embarrassing poo story ever.  I don't tell just ANYONE this story (well, until now) so I felt we had truly bonded.

MY MOST EMBARRASSING POO STORY EVER

Ohhhh god.
This story begins with a blocked toilet.  It had been blocked by a guest in my flat who had then conveniently fucked off.  Thanks.

Anyway, I pride myself as being a toilet-handy bloke so I got out the plunger and the bucket of hot-water and Got Stuck In.
 
My task wasn't made any easier by the cat who assumed I was in the toilet to clean out her litter-box.  "Meow," she kept saying and I had to shoo her away, swearing the whole time because this poo
was well and truly wedged around the U-bend. 
 
And now it was starting to get a bit desperate because I needed to go too.  I tried squeezing the old cheeks together, but I was well aware that my poo wasn't going to stay immobile for much longer.
So I took the shower head and stuck that down the bog, boiled more hot water, and put some "Daz" down hoping to hear that sound - BLORP - which means the poo has shifted and I could utilise the facilities.
But no.  All I got was an increasingly desperate cat.  Seems SHE wanted to go bad too.  "MEEEE-ooowrrr!!" she said.  I can't remember what I replied, but it probably wasn't pretty.
 
So the next ten minutes ticked by with me getting increasingly desperate, more buckets, more Daz, more "MEEEEe-OOOOWWLL", more "**** off cat!!" more buckets, more plunger, more "Jeeeeez!!  I REALLY need to go!!" more swearing at the person who'd launched this FUCKING REDWOOD TREE OF A SHIT down MY toilet.  MORE cat!  More bowel cramps.
 
And then it hit me.  I would have to do the Unthinkable.
 
Yes, I hitched up me keks and shit in the catbox.
 
The cat was disgusted and ran off.  I too, was disgusted as a wave of gas enveloped me and I realised why we normally poo into water.  I REALLY had to clean the cat box now.  So I got out a bin-bag and
- BLOOOORRRP!!
 
Yes, the BLOODY toilet un-blocked itself two minutes after my Moment of Shame.  More sweary words were said.  AND when I had finally cleaned the catbox, cleaned up the Daz, mopped up the wet floor and put away the plunger I found the cat had shit in the corner of the living room.
 
I have carried this secret with me for many years.  Thank you for allowing me to share.