Now given, there was a blocked pipe or something in the urinal in this pub, and so the smell in the toilets (the gentlemen's at least) was bad enough to cause this visitor to hold his cider in for as long as possible before a second visit. And given, pub toilets are not the most pleasant place to spend a penny on a Friday night, what with the floors becoming progressively tackier, with plastic cups and cigarette butts filling the urinals, chewing gum mixing in with the medicinal pineapple chunks, a half-open cubicle door where someone who had his poorly cooked kebob at the wrong end of the evening is audibly struggling. But come on.
Horror?
If this is horror to you, then I'm afraid, in the words of the inimitable Blackie Lawless, you've not been 'round my house on a Saturday night.
1 comment:
Oh I remember that weekend, Silver, and your constant amusement at other people's lower tolerance for disgust than yours. Good times.
When are you coming back to Black Diamond? We'll always have a seat up the front for you.
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