I went through a phase of going for long walks with my best friend after he had been made redundant from a job he had done for 25 years. He had worked in the same factory as myself, but I had left 4 years prior to redundancies because of ill health. Anyway, at the time he was made redundant, I was, shall we say, between jobs, so when I wasn’t searching for my next job, we would go on long, long, long walks into the Peak District in Derbyshire, close to where we live.
We would go through the same preparatory ritual the night before: Sandwiches, Drinks, waterproof coats and cigarettes in our backpacks. Our walks would often turn into 20 + mile hikes at a strolling pace, which would regularly take us about 7 or 8 hours.
On one particular occasion, the night before a hike, we had consumed lots and lots of beer, which in retrospect, was not the best idea! Anyhow, we met up the next morning at around 8am on the corner of a street that separated our houses and set off, not sure which route to take, just walking, talking and putting the world to rights. Every couple of miles we would find a place to rest our weary arses and enjoy a drink, a bite to eat and a smoke (Ironic that we were doing something healthy and complementing it with something unhealthy) The further we walking into the countryside, over fences, over stiles, over virgin fields, through unmarked farm yards, the more my stomach ached and my stinker twitched!
We were about 10 miles from home when, after fighting off several windy explosions, I couldn’t hold back anymore, so trusting that it would just be wind, let it go! I stopped it escaping almost instantly as I could feel a lump in the wind. Luckily, we were deep in a forest, so, explaining to my friend Stuart what was about to go down, and come out, whether I liked it or not, started to frantically search for a little bit of seclusion, all the time clenching and moaning in desperation!
I spotted a dip in amongst the brambles and fern just behind a large, rickety old gate and made a dash for it, shouting to Stuart “Won’t be long”. I could hear him laughing as I positioned myself out of sight before ripping the jeans down and squatting. I can tell you now, it was over in a second. Oh, the relief! However, I was then faced with the problem of NO toilet paper! So, thinking on my feet, or thinking in a semi squatting position, I made the executive decision to take my jeans fully off, take my pants off, and use the pants as toilet paper! After I had struggled to keep my balance whilst keeping a sharp eye out for the remote danger of a stranger passing by, I stood up with jeans on, but pantless, and glanced behind me at my enforced production (Sorry, I was just an instinctive reaction!) and witnessed a million flies descend onto a pile that a cow would have been proud of.
Strangely, I felt liberated but slightly dirty as I caught up with Stuart, who was still laughing at my emergency procedure. The moral of this true story is, don’t leave the house without spare pants or emergency toilet paper, especially after a night on the booze.