Rally
GutsOne
too many kebabs, a few too many pints of old knob rotter’s extra
peculiar ale and a burger with brand XXX extra nasty chilli sauce.
Well it seemed a good idea at the time. But come Sunday morning and
your colon is losing the battle and an all out surrender is just
around the corner. So you waddle off to the toilets. As the
intestinal battle rages the waddle becomes more noticeable. You
convince yourself that the toilets are that far away. You convince
yourself that the toilets won’t be that bad, someone will have
cleaned them. Your stomach gurgles loudly. Things are getting a bit
urgent now. Your pace quickens and the waddle turns from a gentle
saunter in to a strange waddling run. From a distance you now look
like one of those speed walkers. Small children stop and point and
giggle as you steam past them. And steam is a good description
because at this point there is more sweat on your brow. As you pass
the laughing kids your face looks stern and is set in a look of
intense concentration. A sudden sharp pain in the lower abdomen
makes you jerk to a stop and clench. Your eyes widen and your
nostrils flare. After a few seconds the pain goes and you continue
the camp site waddle stopping every so often to clench and flare.
The
sweat is now running freely down your face and the pains are more
like contractions. You approach the toilets and your nose gets
assaulted by the odour. Assaulted is actually the wrong way to
describe the way your nose is affected by the toilets. To be more
accurate your nose is taken out side for spilling the smell’s pint
then given a right good kicking, then invites all its mates along to
slap you around until your vision blurs. There is no way you could
use these toilets. The battle rages in your stomach. Your cheeks are
permanently clenched now and you are walking like you have spent a
week in a Turkish jail.
Then,
suddenly, the pain goes. The gurgling stops. You walk back to the
tent and convince your self that you can make it home. Because it is
a well known fact there is no better toilet than your own, and if you
are going to commit GBH to the porcelain you would at least like to
do it in the comfort of your own home. You get on your bike and set
off home. However, you are unaware your stomach has gone in to rally
shut down. This is a strange state where the intestines go in to a
kind of dormant state and will only re awaken just five minutes away
from home. This is the same dormant state most employees at McDonalds
go into, only waking up five minutes before they go home. You see a
sign post at the side of the road saying that you only have 20 miles
left to go. This is where you find out that your rally shut down
timer is faulty. It should keep you safe until five minutes from
home. You start to sweat. 19.7 miles to go. The gurgles start and
they seem to be mocking you. You are sweating so much now that your
visor starts to mist up. Bloody hell the traffic lights are on red.
You have to fart, but dare you? You look around and luckily there are
no children around. You lean over slowly to the left, lifting one
cheek off the seat and gently let out a fart in a very steady and
controlled manner trying not to put any pressure behind it. The fart
seems endless. A couple of pedestrians pass by and you over hear one
say ‘sounds like the exhaust blowing on that bike’.
The
lights change and you pull away. The pain in your lower abdomen has
returned and makes you sit bolt upright. From a distance you look
like a BMW rider but you don’t care anymore. As you ride home you
decide that you are going to go for it as time is running out. You
ride like a white van man for most of the way home and then with only
8 miles left to go you suddenly find that every little bump in the
road brings pain. You slow down. You become very aware of the road
surface and each little bump and pot hole issues forth a new and more
intense flurry of farting. It’s like your very own anal orchestra
in your leathers. Because of the pain you are now riding at 2 miles
an hour. Your riding instructor would be proud with your slow riding
abilities. As you turn a corner you notice a speed hump and you burst
in to tears. Usually these speed humps you take at 50 and try to keep
the front wheel down as you blast down the road but today you are
being over taken by a pensioner in an electric buggy. As they speed
past you it you wave your fist in the air and shout ‘MANIAC’ as
you get caught in their slip stream.
Even
though you were never that good at mental arithmetic at school you
are now an expert and you know that you have exactly 5.376 miles left
to go, but if you take a short cut through the local spar down the
freezer isle and out the back you will avoid two speed humps and
shave off a massive 0.126 miles. What you find more worrying is that
you are seriously contemplating doing this. But it is at times like
this that the human mind becomes incredibly focused and you realise
that you are only 0.4765 miles away from your friend’s house and
they will be in and more importantly they have a downstairs toilet!
Turning in to your friend’s street the contractions become more
violent and the pressure makes you undo the top off your leathers. It
is a weird fact of evolution that you have discovered your bowels
have Armitage shanks proximity detectors. As you pull the bike up to
the door you have a quick panic attack as you have not actually
worked out how to get off the bike without erupting. Various
neighbours watch through the net curtains as you gently slide off the
side of the bike on to the floor with a whimper. Your friend’s
front door opens and you force them against the wall as you barge
past them walking like a member of Kraftwerk. As you pass them you
shout out
‘MOVE……………toilet…………..NOW…………..breach
birth…………..oooohhhh it’s engaged!!!!!!!’
The
relief is immense and even though you know you will be spending the
next six months apologising to your friend for the state of the
bathroom it was worth it. All seven glorious seconds of it. It would
be a good idea to buy lots of bleach and a year’s supply of toilet
duck. As you walk out of the toilet you smile to your self as you
realise there is a way you can kill a cactus.
been there done that......I remember shouting" MUMMY PLEASE MAKE IT STOP" whimpering as the I managed to sit with out actually having a violent explosion of the butt before reaching a sighting position on the loo, sweat rolling down my face then blast off!!!!!!! and shouting "NURSE!!!!!!!".
It is at this point as the noise and smell that envelopes the Motorway services that you hear kids start to cry and shout "Mummy PLEASE make it go away" and then I recall screaming" MEDIC SEND A MEDIC"!
...and then it was all over lol..the relief is immense, a satisfied and spent look comes across your face......and a promise not to eat dodgy kebab ever again...
.............of course it was the food nothing to do with the alcohol.....bloody food venders....lol
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