The Wall of Shame

So my mate’s out walking his dogs in the woods when the rumbling starts. You know the one. The this is happening now kind.

No toilets. No time. He dives off the path and goes full Bear Grylls, trousers down, squatting behind a tree, praying no one comes by. Sweet, sweet relief.

Just as he’s doing up his pants, he hears a voice from down the hill. “Alright, mate?”

It’s his friend. With his dogs.

The dogs spot him and sprint up like they’ve found buried treasure. Except… the treasure wasn’t buried.

Breakfast was a full English, two cans of Monster, and a bacon bap for the road. Felt like a king… until the concrete pump kicked in and so did my guts.

Made a sprint for the portaloo like it was the 100m final. Got inside, dropped the tool belt, and sat down just in time. Sweet relief… until I realised two things:

1. No bog roll.

2. The door latch didn’t work.

Guess who bursts in mid-battle? Big Dave, camera out, cackling like a hyena. That video’s now on three WhatsApp groups and I’m officially The Brown Layer.

Example story, its rubbish, I am sure you can do better.