This is a bit icky. Got a weak stomach or (like me) just eaten a really, really nasty pizza that tastes like the delivery boy ran out of space on his Moped Of Doom and so wedged it between his buttocks instead?
If so, skip on.
As you probably are aware, we Brits are enjoying somewhat unusual weather. Its all a bit hot and sticky. Because we don't really do air-conditioning as such (ok, we do, but unlike the American variety that turns an office into a passable version of the South Pole at the expensive of the real South Pole, the British version serves as a way of sending the same warm and stale air round and round the building) everywhere is a bit unpleasant.
Take the office pub. The boss frequently conducts meetings here while he plies us with alcohol to hear what we really think.
The gents toilets in the office pub is not a nice place to be. To compensate for the pools of dubious liquids festering on the floor in the heat (the result of ancient plumbing giving up and going home), the landlord has thoughtfully introduced ventilation. This takes the form of a chair propping the door open, giving those in the bar area a prime view of the goings on within.
The benefit of this is that while gingerly making use of the facilities, I was able to hear one of those wonderful one-sided conversations. A chap trying to talk to his girlfriend through the door to the ladies:
"Look, I'm really sorry"
(muffled voice)
"I know, it was dark in the club. Really"
(muffled voice)
"I was drunk. I won't do it again"
(muffled voice)
"I mean it this time. Yes, and that other thing too"
(muffled voice)
"Well how was I supposed to know she was your mother?"
Time, I think, to find a new pub.
