This was something that I failed to post earlier on last year, but it's not for the feint hearted as it's a toilet based story, with all the gory bits left in.
As I've not been on a while, I thought I'd share a delightfully horrendous honeymoon holiday horror in Hisaranu, which I suggest you don't read. Ever. It's some creative writing based on a particular bad bathroom experience... read at your own peril!
The setting? A romantic meal, at a lovely restaurant that was part of a hotel, on my honeymoon in Hisaranu...
It came from the middle of nowhere, during a routine romantic meal, pain struck my gastric system and my stomach swelled to dangerous proportions. It must have been the spicy food I had been eating the night before against my better judgement, and now I had inadvertently put myself in a position where I was in deep water. I was sitting in the restaurant, un-buttoning my fashionably touristy shorts so that my stomach could spill out and relieve some of the mounting pressure on my bloated belly, a strange sight on me I assure you, when those familiar pangs of gastric disaster made me aware that I had better evacuate not only the table from where I was sitting, but also my bowels.
I was in one of those moments of sheer digestive-system torture, where my face could not hide the pain and discomfort I was feeling, so no funny quip from me about going to shake hands with the Arab, or saying I was using the facilities. She knew, without a doubt, what I had to do, and knew that I would be leaving her on her own in a strange country, alone, for some time. I simply told her where I was going, and left as quick as I could without making it look to obvious that if I didn't hurry that I would actually soil myself.
The toilet area was down stairs, and with each step closer to the landing zone, the need for expulsion rose higher and higher, my hand holding my shorts up at the waist, trying to retain some dignity, although at this point, I didn't care about anything except reaching my destination within the next few minutes, or the stairs would be the location of the worst disaster since the titanic.
I walked through the door to the lavatory and the smell warned me of what was to come before I even had a chance to gaze upon the marvel of the Turkish toilet facilities. My first thought was that I would be walking into a room with a hole in the middle of the floor, shit smeared everywhere and a jug of water to wash down whatever morsels escaped the maw of the sewage pipe, but I was in for a rare treat. These facilities were of western ingenuity! No squatting down on the floor like a monkey/dog/robot for me!
A quick glance round the room lifted my spirits a bit, as I was alone. This would make the next part of my inevitable journey all the easier, as when an audience is present, I am a true English gentleman, and just cannot go for fear of being heard, I kind of tend to clench up with stage fright. There were two cubicles, one with an out of order sign on it, the other, remarkably intact.
I hobbled over to the "in order" cubicle, wincing with pain and listening to the complaints my belly was grumbling as I moved. As I got closer to the door the smell increased, whatever had died in here was behind this door, but I couldn't risk trying to find another toilet, so I had to brave the inevitable.
I half expected to open the toilet and find a dead goat looking up at me, or someone making a kebab from eight year old dead cats whilst simultaneously riding the pine. But nothing, there was no shit smeared walls, or expired wildlife, instead there was a regular toilet, with the worst smell I'd ever smelt in my nostril's memory. I closed the door and got ready to assume the position, when I stopped myself.
Even in the midst of my pain and anguish, I checked the toilet area for dangerous insects (and people say they movie Arachnophobia doesn't teach you anything) and apart from blood sucking flies I was safe.
I tore several pieces of toilet roll off of the holder, that was hidden behind a plastic dispenser that took up 80% of the cubicle, then placed the toilet roll so it had about 9 layers between my skin and the toilet seat. I pulled down what I needed to and had to sit with my face nearly touching the other side of the toilet cubicle thanks to the enormous dispenser.
The calm before the storm lifted and what came next was the stuff of nightmares. I was afraid to begin with, and as a result nothing was forthcoming, instead I had to initiate the push. It was battle stations in my bowels, and alarms were ringing, pain shot across my bow and I clenched my fist and fought through the tears... a wrenching, excruciating process gripped me for the next few moments, and those moments felt like eons. The war raged on and the invading forces were being expelled, but the force was greater than I had hoped... my imagination ran wild as to what was happening where I could not, nor dare not look. Thoughts of a ripping motion below made me wince, which enabled the intruder one last desperate attempt to re-enter my atmosphere. However, I soldiered on, and with one last push and a yell I was able to expel the demon. The battle was over, but the enemy had left it's fare share of wounds. My stomach still wounded from the encounter with the monstrous evil that had infested my being. I wiped my brow, reached for those last few remaining precious sheets of toilet paper, and finished the job.
I revelled in the flushing of the beast, opened the door, and went to the sink. After washing my hands I looked into the reflection in the mirror, the man staring back at me was a shell of his former self, the blood gone from his face and in his eyes I saw the knowledge that the battle may have been over, but the war, the war would never be won. One day, when I'm least expecting it, a similar or greater force would be waiting... but next time... I'd be ready....