Two weeks ago, an early morning a Campsite in westest Wales:
I've just got to go, for the beast is knocking down the doors, so I rush to the campsite toilets and it's all quiet - phew! or so I thought. I've dropped kecks, desperate not to miss this precious undisturbed moment, when I realise that someone's occupying the cubicle next to me and, having heard my approach, he's now desperately trying not to drop his bombs... Only a rustle of clothes resulting from his irresistable bowel tremors gives his presence away.
It's so quiet.
I mean, there's no normal toilet noise. At all. No washers washing, no taps tapping, no laughing kids, no retching from the still peshed Mancunians in the tents next to ours... silence.
For about 5 minutes (I kid you not) we remain conscious of each other's presence. Nothing's going to make us send the brown down. Not unless someone walks in and makes some noise.
Then, finally, a wonderful interlude.
The door opens.
I'm not one to lose an opportunity like that, so I push.
The door shuts. Whoever decided to come in has had second thoughts. His shower can wait. I hate him.
Silence. Everything I'm doing is amplified in these noiseless bogs. I'm past the point of no return. It's horrendous. And it doesn't stop. Damn camp cooking.
I hear the guy next to me chuckle quietly, so I flush, up kecks and get out as quick as I can.
I will never POO IN A QUIET CAMPSITE TOILET AGAIN.