Fortunately these days my constitution is cast iron but in my youth I had a few messy bottomed accidents. The worst was when I was utterly trolleyed and stumbling home the three miles from Bournemouth. I only had about a quarter of a mile to go when the urge to poo grew too strong and I started to run. Bad move. The motion hit my bowels and it decided it was time for it to get moving too. Whilst sprinting along I remembered seeing new municipal toilets on the route but as I just got within the last few strides of reaching them I soiled my own strides. I stumbled into the toilets. All was fresh and clean in there. It was as if they'd never been used. Indeed they hadn't and there was no lighting whatsoever. Quite why they were unlocked is unclear but anyway I was stumbling around in the pitch black trying to find the cubicle with a pony the size of a baby's arm down the seat of my scuddies.
Eventually I found a trap and waddled in. Unfortunately in the darkness I dropped my trousers and in attempting to steer the log into the toilet bowl I missed and it fell on the floor. I then unsurprisingly trod on it as I attempted to get out of the cubicle, treading it all the way out the door. I had to go home and chuck my clothes away - a monumentally unfortunate thing to have to do, as a poor student dressed in his best scoring trousers...
