When were you last "caught out"?
Discussion
Today I was caught out. Properly. And I’m still suffering the after effects.
A little preamble to set the scene.
The day dawned dark, cloudy and rainy and I didn’t bother getting out of bed early, despite promising myself a day walking in the country.
By noon, however, the day had turned bright and clear – a lovely late autumn day. I tried to persuade my good lady wife that she should enjoy a country stroll with me but she was having none of it – wise, wise woman. Never have I been more glad that she doesn’t share my enthusiasm for local exploration.
I donned a warm fleece, pocketed my “rain talisman” – a shower-proof, disposable poncho made of thin plastic just in case and set off. Not once in ten years have I actually needed to use the thing…but should the worst happen it’s there.
All was well. The sky was blue. The wildlife was gambolling in the fields and, because it was Sunday, no-one was actually shooting it at the time. Life was good.
As I made the turn around South Wood, half expecting Badger or Foxy to pop out and offer me a cup of tea, I reached the place in my itinery furthest from my home and it was at this point that the first rumblings of disaster made themselves known.
Far away in the sky clouds were gathering and beginning to look ominous – it was going to rain. Damn “talisman” its effects have finally worn off.
But this wasn’t omnipresent in my list of concerns. Other rumblings significantly closer to me were initiating. My guts were starting to bubble and I heard a small sound – a whimper – taking a moment to realise it was me. No doubt about it I was going to need to empty my guts at some point. The question? When. And quite possibly “Where?”.
Now the paths I was walking were, thankfully, sparsely populated but not completely deserted. Despite mounting pangs of need I resolved to simply keep going to avoid certain arrest for indecent exposure. Surely I could make it home! I have not been caught out outside in almost thirty years! Teeth gritted against the worsening weather conditions and the steadily increasing internal pressure I soldiered on.
Now – the great conundrum. Does one attempt to walk faster? This may get you home prior to an unfortunate event…but…the increased effort places greater strain on the already hard-working lower body. What to do? I maintained a steady pace with the occasional stop to calm myself and will my internal commotions to a standstill. Willpower alone was now restraining my desperately clenching behind.
UP, UP, UP! The mantra in my head spoke loudly to my colon. DOWN, DOWN, DOWN spake the underlying food poisoning from last night’s (utterly delicious but now under suspicion) meal.
A couple walk up from behind me. I turn to them and grunt as politely as I can muster that they should pass, as I will be walking more slowly. Too right! It’s difficult to maintain pace when every mental effort you can apply is willing one’s sphincter to resist the inevitable. They look at me politely and smile and would have started conversation had not my thunderous visage not revealed the underlying strain and matched the darkening skies above.
Thank goodness they move on and I resume toiling home in the hope that I can make it and obtain relief.
It was at this point that nature kicked me in the groin. It started to piss down. I mean pouring out of the sky in the way I longed to let my poor, sore innards do to the nearest toilet bowl.
Shivering with the effort I manage to open the packet containing my disposable plastic poncho. I put my head first through the left armpit, then the right armpit and then finally through the head. One size fits all. Finally.
I trudge into the woods. Cover at last. But at the edge I can see my house over the fields – and so very, very, very, very far to far away. ARSE! I realise at last that my efforts to maintain my dignity and my thirty year record are finally at an end. I can resist the intense urge no longer.
I wander off into the woods, yank down the lower garments, hang on to branch and allow the worst to pass. My goodness. I didn’t know I could be that ill. Practically retching I realise that despite having the throttle fully open nothing more is happening and I stand up, yank the lower garments back up and mince miserably the final half-mile home. That mincing gate is, I am certain, quite unique to those attempting to contain “the problem” as it were. Nasty.
I shall not bore you with the remainder. I made it home and am suffering still (definitely not well) but it led me to think how much worse it might have been.
And If I can imagine it – then someone on PH has been through it.
When were you last caught out?
(Re-instated. Make up your own mind if it's mildly amusing or not...)
A little preamble to set the scene.
The day dawned dark, cloudy and rainy and I didn’t bother getting out of bed early, despite promising myself a day walking in the country.
By noon, however, the day had turned bright and clear – a lovely late autumn day. I tried to persuade my good lady wife that she should enjoy a country stroll with me but she was having none of it – wise, wise woman. Never have I been more glad that she doesn’t share my enthusiasm for local exploration.
I donned a warm fleece, pocketed my “rain talisman” – a shower-proof, disposable poncho made of thin plastic just in case and set off. Not once in ten years have I actually needed to use the thing…but should the worst happen it’s there.
All was well. The sky was blue. The wildlife was gambolling in the fields and, because it was Sunday, no-one was actually shooting it at the time. Life was good.
As I made the turn around South Wood, half expecting Badger or Foxy to pop out and offer me a cup of tea, I reached the place in my itinery furthest from my home and it was at this point that the first rumblings of disaster made themselves known.
Far away in the sky clouds were gathering and beginning to look ominous – it was going to rain. Damn “talisman” its effects have finally worn off.
But this wasn’t omnipresent in my list of concerns. Other rumblings significantly closer to me were initiating. My guts were starting to bubble and I heard a small sound – a whimper – taking a moment to realise it was me. No doubt about it I was going to need to empty my guts at some point. The question? When. And quite possibly “Where?”.
Now the paths I was walking were, thankfully, sparsely populated but not completely deserted. Despite mounting pangs of need I resolved to simply keep going to avoid certain arrest for indecent exposure. Surely I could make it home! I have not been caught out outside in almost thirty years! Teeth gritted against the worsening weather conditions and the steadily increasing internal pressure I soldiered on.
Now – the great conundrum. Does one attempt to walk faster? This may get you home prior to an unfortunate event…but…the increased effort places greater strain on the already hard-working lower body. What to do? I maintained a steady pace with the occasional stop to calm myself and will my internal commotions to a standstill. Willpower alone was now restraining my desperately clenching behind.
UP, UP, UP! The mantra in my head spoke loudly to my colon. DOWN, DOWN, DOWN spake the underlying food poisoning from last night’s (utterly delicious but now under suspicion) meal.
A couple walk up from behind me. I turn to them and grunt as politely as I can muster that they should pass, as I will be walking more slowly. Too right! It’s difficult to maintain pace when every mental effort you can apply is willing one’s sphincter to resist the inevitable. They look at me politely and smile and would have started conversation had not my thunderous visage not revealed the underlying strain and matched the darkening skies above.
Thank goodness they move on and I resume toiling home in the hope that I can make it and obtain relief.
It was at this point that nature kicked me in the groin. It started to piss down. I mean pouring out of the sky in the way I longed to let my poor, sore innards do to the nearest toilet bowl.
Shivering with the effort I manage to open the packet containing my disposable plastic poncho. I put my head first through the left armpit, then the right armpit and then finally through the head. One size fits all. Finally.
I trudge into the woods. Cover at last. But at the edge I can see my house over the fields – and so very, very, very, very far to far away. ARSE! I realise at last that my efforts to maintain my dignity and my thirty year record are finally at an end. I can resist the intense urge no longer.
I wander off into the woods, yank down the lower garments, hang on to branch and allow the worst to pass. My goodness. I didn’t know I could be that ill. Practically retching I realise that despite having the throttle fully open nothing more is happening and I stand up, yank the lower garments back up and mince miserably the final half-mile home. That mincing gate is, I am certain, quite unique to those attempting to contain “the problem” as it were. Nasty.
I shall not bore you with the remainder. I made it home and am suffering still (definitely not well) but it led me to think how much worse it might have been.
And If I can imagine it – then someone on PH has been through it.
When were you last caught out?
(Re-instated. Make up your own mind if it's mildly amusing or not...)
Edited by Don on Sunday 6th December 18:53
Not exactly "caught out", as I'd chosen not to use the bog in our room while backpacking in Corfu.
The urge took me while sunbathing on a quiet, but still occupied beach. The thin line of trees at the top of the beach afforded no protection from embarrassment, and by now, the urge was too strong to make it back to the disgusting toilet at my disposal.
I can verify, that swimming with your knees as close to your chest as possible, and laying a cable is very difficult to do.
Should you ever find yourself in this predicament, DO NOT, I repeat DO NOT look back. This experience should carry with it a similar warning as that written on American cars:
The urge took me while sunbathing on a quiet, but still occupied beach. The thin line of trees at the top of the beach afforded no protection from embarrassment, and by now, the urge was too strong to make it back to the disgusting toilet at my disposal.
I can verify, that swimming with your knees as close to your chest as possible, and laying a cable is very difficult to do.
Should you ever find yourself in this predicament, DO NOT, I repeat DO NOT look back. This experience should carry with it a similar warning as that written on American cars:
Oakey said:
You didn't even wipe? I mean, I know there's not much about, but not even with some leaves? You just pulled your pants back up round your s
tty arse? Good grief.
I'm glad I'm not the only one to worry about this.tty arse? Good grief.Don - I know I always bring it up - but no Sainsbury's wine involved?
sorry
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