I wasn't too interested. I was answering a call of nature while a beautiful girl sat in the bar, sipping her diet coke and guarding my beer with, if not her life, then at least her handbag.
As I stood, staring intently and silently at the wall in the way that guys do I became aware of another presence in the room. A chap was standing by the sink, trying to use his mobile phone (AS A PHONE - get your minds out of the gutter.) I was naturally shocked. This broke all the rules of bathroom etiquette.
But worse was to come...
The chap (who I recognised as the landlord of another pub in the town) was clearly a little inebriated and weaved to towards me.
He (waving a business card and slurring slightly): "Can you read this number?"
Me (with aplomb): "Sure -
He: "Fuggit. Fucking phones. This isn't working. Tell you what. You dial, I'll hold... I'll hold..."
(I waited while he finished belching, terrified to imagine what it was he was planning to hold)
"...the business card."
And so it was that I found myself standing at a urinal, dialling a number on someone elses phone with one hand while they held a business card in front of my face and wondering when the Bathroom Inquisition would burst in on us.
Yes, the number worked. Yes, I have never washed my hands so thoroughly.
