Hello Mule fans, (Bless all three of you), Sorry for the tardiness of putting fingers to keyboard, but there seems to have been a lot of shit going down on the domestic front! Very poorly cats, trips to the vets every night, never enough hours in the day, trips to ‘dfs’ - a truly mind numbing experience. They could at least let you enter the building before they pounce on you - to replace sofas that Jack Russells have completely destroyed. They have been Re-Christened the Kray twins, and will hence forth be known as Ronnie and Reggie! Anyway, I am back, and back with a vengeance, and what better way to kick of the comeback tour, than to start with urination!
As I have reached this age (only a couple of weeks to go till D-Day)! I have noticed that I have started to urinate on a much more regular basis. This was part of the reason, for my embarrassing trip for a diabetes check. (Please see earlier blog). Of course the other medical reason for this, could be an enlarged prostate, but I am trying to put off this particular visit to the docs, until it’s absolutely necessary! I have always thought what a peculiar job doctors have. He could be inserting his finger into my rectum one minute, and then chatting over the aperitifs at a dinner party with me the next! Just as my Grandmother before me, any trip out now has to be preceded by lengthy investigations into the public conveniences of the final destination. I am thinking of just buying some incontinence pants, and being done with it. It can flow freely then, and the only problem will be huge pants full of urine, wafting about and throwing me off balance. Until that day, I will just have to have an intimate knowledge of the local facilities.
So, there was Miss Marple and myself down the town the other Saturday, when I announced that I needed to spend a penny. Off I trot into the toilets, while Miss Marple waited dutifully outside. Miss Marple has spent so much time hanging around outside male lavatories, that I am surprised that she hasn’t been asked how much she charges for hand relief! I came out, (not in a George Michael kind of way), and off Miss Marple and me headed.
“Anybody else in there”? Miss Marple asked.
I said there was one bloke.
“Do blokes chat about anything when they are in the toilets”? she innocently asked.
After Miss Marple had hurriedly come back from ‘Boots’ with some smelling salts and revived me, I informed her that “NO, we definitely did not chat about anything.
She looked at me quizzically and asked, “Why not”?
After another much stronger administration of smelling salts, I sat up woozily and said, “I think it’s about time you and me had a little chat”.
I took Miss Marple by the arm, and marched her off to a local café for a cup of tea, and a little chat, about the finer points of male public convenience etiquette!
I ordered a pot of tea for two, and sat her down, much like a Father would sit down his son for a little chat about the birds and the bees. Only with Miss Marple being my wife, this was obviously a great deal more patronising! I started by telling her that men, under no circumstances, talk about anything in a public toilet. Even if you were having a heart attack, not a word would pass your lips. Miss Marple asked why, and told me that women quite often chat in the toilets. “Because“, I told her, “If a man talks to another man in a public convenience, it is automatically assumed, that he is a lifter“. “That’s ridiculous” she told me. “Yes I said”, “You know that, and I know that, but that is just the way it is”. Now, I think I have mentioned before, that I have absolutely no problem with homosexuality what so ever. It matters not one little bit, if consenting male adults wish partake in sessions of ‘Bottom Love’, it’s just that I don’t really want to be presumed Gay, just because I said good morning to a bloke in a toilet! It’s a strange phenomena, You could be the most un-aggressive, easy going, non blokey bloke alive, but as soon as you step into a public toilet, all the testosterone rushes to the surface. It’s as if we have to assert our masculinity, in order to repel any unwanted advances from a homosexual, just chancing his arm! It’s pretty ludicrous really, but we just can’t seem to help ourselves. I have witnessed many an amusing display of ‘Pea-cocking’ as I call it. (This could suggest, that I have spent an unhealthy amount of time, hanging around public toilets, for the purpose of research…..I haven’t)! A lot of men seem to stand with their legs apart while at the urinal, and it seems that the further apart the legs are, the more masculine they wish to be portrayed. I have seen men with their legs so far apart, that it makes their groin area so low, they have to use the special low down kids one’s! Coughing, that’s something else that seems to happen quite a lot. I have no idea what the idea behind this is, but I am sure there is some primeval reason. Cigarette butt racing. This can only be played with very good friends, who know each other well, and won’t ‘lose it’ over a little case of ‘splash back’. Talking of which, this can be a serious problem. Women are extremely fortunate, in the fact that they sit down, and therefore splash back is not an issue. Men on the other hand can have huge issues. An unwanted moment of splash back when wearing light coloured trousers, can be disastrous in social circles. Then there is the double jet. I really don’t know how this happens, but sometimes instead of the easily controllable single jet, a double one can occur! A mild panic can then ensue, while the man wrestles with his penis, and tries to consolidate the double jet, into one easily manageable one. (I am sure Carol Voordaman would have something to say on the subject).
The absolute no no when in a public lavatory, the ultimate cardinal sin, to top all others is of course the……..’Sneaky peek’! Yes, I know it’s tempting, nine times out of ten there are no homosexual overtones involved, but it is hard not to take a ‘Sneaky peek’ at the appendage of the bloke next you! We are all curious, we spend a great deal of time worrying about the size of our penis. “Oh God, I bet mine is smaller than everybody else’s, I bet it’s a funny shape”, etc etc. So there you are, your standing next to a man with his penis in full view, this is your chance to put your mind at rest, lay to bed all those fears that you have had for so long. “Go on“, you think to yourself, “Just a little look, he won’t notice“. If you are caught, it’s the worst thing in the world. If ever you wanted the ground to open up and swallow you, this was that moment. There is nothing you can say to appease the situation is there? Absolutely nothing you can say, that would explain your actions. “Sorry about that mate, just seeing how big your cock is”, or, “Ah, I see yours doesn’t bend to the left like mine”. It just really doesn’t cut it, does it? Of course the obvious result of this, is that you are beaten up outside afterwards, while a gang of youths shout homophobic abuse at you. Either that, or worse, the guy who has caught you peeking, winks, slips a piece of paper with his phone number on into your back pocket, and gently taps you on the arse as your still urinating!
Miss Marple was genuinely amazed at the complexities of the male public convenience, and now has a new found respect for the difficulties involved with male public urination. We left the café, and headed for the car. “Better just go dear before we leave”, I said……….Now what was the catalogue number for those rather fetching incontinence pants?……………..
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