Good evening, and welcome to my blog.
Today is the Birthday of my soon to be Mother-In-Law (she who was bitten by a Bat), and to celebrate, last night we went out to a lovely restaurant – as all the horrible restaurants were booked, thankfully – and had a lovely meal.
It was a very pleasant and uneventful evening.
Unlike last year. Don’t get me wrong – last year my Mother-In–Law’s birthday was equally lovely and pleasant, but was also altogether more eventful. The following extract was originally a Facebook status update, which my friends will tell you is often littered with tales of mishap as the hand of fate regularly pokes me in the eye.
I thought I would share it with my Blog fans.
I hope you like it.
The Birthday Pub Meal Restroom Restriction!!!
My friends, it’s happened again. The seagull of fate has yet again dive bombed my chips, and simultaneously pooped on my new shoes.
This week has been a week of Birthdays: Marianne Lagrue , Dan Lagrue , Glenn Bratley , Emma Bratley , Rebecca Hurley (tomorrow) to name a few very lovely people, and included in this Cacophony of celebration is the divine and sublime Margaret Hurley .
It is her Birthday today along with the afore-mentioned Emma, and so Dr Adrienne Rogers and I booked a table for three (sorry Emma) at the Blue Vinney Pub and Restaurant in Puddletown, Dorset. The Blue Vinney is a lovely place that serves great food, but has very poor telephone reception.
Adrienne and I picked up Margaret from outside her house – she hadn’t fallen, she was just waiting – and we drove the short distance to Puddletown. Margaret was in good spirits (tequila I think) and was merrily telling me to get a haircut, and complaining about modern pop songs and how they were just noise and you can’t hear the words anymore like in the good old days.
Before you could say “you can’t beat a bit of Frankie Vallie” we arrived at the pub, and went in to take our seats.
‘Table for three, Rogers – I booked’ said Adrienne cheerfully as we approached the bar.
A furrowed brow and a sense of confusion stared back at us, interspersed with checking of the booking log.
Soon it became apparent that the empty table reserved for “Hodges X 2” was actually ours, (poor telephone reception) and we decided that we didn’t want to sit there anyway and chose a different table with a view out to the pub garden.
Menus were inspected, and drinks and food chosen. The meal began, and all was lovely.
It was midway through my main course that the “WC available” sign came on in my bladder, and I excused myself and went to the gents toilet.
For those of you who are neither local, or male, let me describe the interior of the gents:
Three urinals, one cubicle, and a sink.
never need visit)
The urinals were on the far wall and the ceiling slanted down directly above them – a fact I did not consider important initially. Looking downwards, I readied myself for emptying, and only as the process started did I raise my head – and found that the slanted ceiling was so low that I couldn’t stand up straight.
Usually, I could cope with this. It’s not the first time I’ve been bent over in a gents loo, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. However, of late I have been suffering with a bad back and I knew I couldn’t maintain this position for very long. I decided that the answer lay in my erectness (as it often does).
I gently leaned backwards whilst expertly maintaining my fluid release. I found that this allowed my back to stretch out straight alleviating the uncomfortable feeling. At full stretch, my forehead was less than 2cm from the slanted ceiling.
After a moment to steady myself, I relaxed and closed my eyes, and let my mind wander. My lower half was on Autopilot so I need not concentrate on that. Thoughts of the upcoming Pantomime, and the lines I still had to learn filled my head. And that’s when it happened.
In my relaxed state, my internal gyroscope had switched off, and my centre of balance became unstable. With my eyes closed, I was unaware of myself gently moving forward…..
Until the cold, hard plaster of the ceiling touched my skin, and gave me a sensation much akin to brain freeze. In that instant, my body stiffened and I effectively wedged myself up against the ceiling, with my back bent, my hips forward, and my penis out.
It was a genuine struggle to reposition myself enough to become free of my own made trap. I tidied myself up, washed my hands, and returned to my meal.
The rest of the meal was lovely and uneventful.
Another tick in the column “how?”…..