That Time I Accidentally Had a Shit in a Wetherspoons Women’s Toilet

This post is literally toilet humour, nothing horribly descriptive but from now on I’m talking shit more than I normally do.

 

 

In the UK, before the advent of “24 hour drinking,” the only place to go for a drink after time had been called at 11pm was to a club.

I hate clubs, I craved a lock-in or to go back to a mates house but it was always insisted, usually be the females in the group or the singles, that we go clubbing it “just for a short while.”

I’m reminded of my time in Bradford, in a club called Maestros, the men’s toilets the cloakroom in, luckily hidden around from the eye-line of the actual bogs but enough so the attendants could keep an eye out for any tampering with the fountain of the fish it contained.

That is almost as irritating as going to the loo only to find some poor soul there waiting with a selection of fragrances and pre-torn hand towels.

For me going to the toilet is a private activity but one I’ve learnt to deal with as not solely being unaccompanied if you are in a public place.

Plus pub toilet banter is almost as funny as pub toilet graffiti.

But that is having a pee and having a pee is fine, for me at least, I still have one shy-peeing/cubicle only mate but horses for courses.

Why bring up clubs? Simply because this was my first introduction to the brassy “don’t worry lads, I’ve seen it all before” type of women who, because the facilities in women’s club loos was so inadequate that the only option was to brave the blokes.

And quite a few did, with the usual complaints about the smell and the general state.  Still, it was another source of toilet banter.

Fast forward my continued attendance at music festivals.  The long queues, or perpetual free-for-all of getting a loo at peak periods.  The fear of what awaits as you open the door of an empty one, or the worry that the next person out of the one you are queuing for will be a boy and not a girl.  Or the bigger worry for me, the fear that when I leave the portaloo it will be a girl waiting to go in after me.

Lucky them, as I leave them in a better state than I find them (within music festival toilet reason) but it is still with due deference you make that fleeting eye contact and sheepish knowing look that we are all in this together.

“Spotless” used to be my boast if I was particularly drunk, the hopefully allay worries, while also realising that this sort of toilet banter isn’t best done in an open field to complete strangers.  Meh.

And so we find ourselves with micro pubs and micro bars and the advent of one, singular shared toilet facility (because as I understand it, to have two or more would require the place to be suitable for disabled access, don’t quote me on that, this blog isn’t about accuracy, just entertainment).

Again; I leave the toilet better than I found it, though it has to be said toilet in micro bars are generally of a better standard that a regular pub, probably because of the far less work required in cleaning just the one, but I still leave the cubicle with the dread of a woman waiting to use it.

However, regardless of sex, if they’ve been the type of person that persistently has tried to open the door when it is clearly locked, then I don’t care.  These are the same people that press both the up and down buttons on a lift and then wonder why they go in the wrong direction when they get in the first one that arrives.

Patience.  All good things to those who wait.

Which brings us to the title of this piece, which must have happened a good decade ago now I think on it.

There is nothing worse than knowing, on a night out, that you need to poo.  In unfamiliar surroundings it is just potty luck, in familiar surroundings it can be worse knowing just how limited your options truly are.

There are times I’ve gone home to use my own loo or, for the price of a drink, borrowed the key to a closer by friend’s house to use theirs.

I’ve gone back to pubs to use better toilets and I’ve gone ahead, leaving drinks behind, in order to get a more comfortable shit somewhere else.

Loo roll is a must.  Then a toilet seat.  Then a door that locks.

In a Wetherspoons I was, or rather thought I was familiar with, I got caught very short and went to use the gents.  In my solitary defence, I was desperate, rather drunk and the entry doors are more or less next to each other.

I flew through the door and briefly acknowledged that the toilet was completely empty as I found a suitable WC.

I was not more than 20 seconds into my ablutions than, very much like the ending of “The Usual Suspects,” all the evidence fell into place.

This place smelt nice.  Did I just walk passed sofas and comfy chairs? And a table with magazines on it?  Wait, where were the urinals?  Why is most of the floor I walked in on still carpeted?  Why were there so many cubicles?  Is that…is that women’s voices I hear?

This would seem like the least stressful way out of this.

I tensed.  Somehow trying to control my releasing of both sound, smell and anything else that could possibly give me up to the new and rightful entrants to the toilets.

Not that shit smells any better out of women but let us not take chances here.

I finished up.  Tidied the toilet to within an inch of its ceramic life and then waited, poised for my escape.

The doors closed.  Silence.  I gave it 5 seconds for the previous occupants to reach minimum safe distance and then I moved.  Quickly ran my hands under the tap in a show of some cleanliness and then just hoped that then next few metres to me and the relative safety and embarrassment free zone of the men’s toilets would not be spoiled by the face of any other person witnessing the horrific mistake I made.

I made it to safety, unseen, unspotted.  Soaped my hands and washing them properly looked at my suddenly very sober self in the mirror.  Dried my hands and rejoined the group.

Somewhere I get the feeling that there is a staff or security member who watched this unfold live.  I also get the feeling this did not go as smoothly as I thought it did and have relayed here.

Still, the past is the past, onwards to being confused by foreign toilet signs.

 

Thanks for reading.

Manchester Foodies Political Intolerance

I was racking my brain for a more punchy title, obviously based around food intolerance, etc. so all ideas are welcome.  This one is certainly less click-bait than the original “The Bigots of the Manchester Craft scene.”

Plus it needs to be said that I have no idea if the title is grammatically correct, meh.

One of my mates is actually an entrepreneur of the burgeoning food scene in Manchester and he too charges astronomical prices for what is a simple product to make and sell and fair play to him.  Fair play to all of them, if you can mug someone off for triple the price and let your confidence trick of more cash must equal better product than have at it, fools and their money.

But as I’ve droned on about before, business and politics don’t mix and said friend in a WhatsApp chat posted this picture…

I wonder if Slowthai will make an appearance?

You just know that all the food and drink available there will be so salty from the tears that Sally Davies would be shutting the event down on the grounds of it being hazardous to health.

And why couldn’t a charity event be held on a weekend, perhaps the rich pickings of the weekend crowd are far too much to give up for the homeless.  Then again Tuesday is a nothing day so I suppose it has less challenges for attention.

As far as I’m aware the #pleaseleavemytown is a reference to this…

 

A typically British confrontation; quietly reserved, passive-aggression met with passive acceptance and droll humour.

“My town” – one bloke with a personal opinion.  Not bubbled seals harping on thinking they speak for everyone.

Still, please leave is quite comparable to “go back to where you came from” and speaking to power is fine, speaking to simple members and voters is just a question of punching in every direction other than up but that is what we’ve become, when simple differences of opinion can see the use of certain words lose all meaning from over use and in completely the wrong context.

More civilised that the way Antifa behave at least…

Still homelessness is worthy enough cause to contribute to, after all its proponents are the first to resist the craft beer wave; why bother paying £10 for a half of an imperial stout or TIPA, when you can mix and match four cans of Kestrel, Skol, Tennent’s and Carlsberg Super Strength for the same price.

 

In other fake news, it turns out both Grub and Indy Man Beer Festival had to issue retractions recently.  Happy they were that rather than the white and middle class turning up to all their events, they finally managed to attract their first paying black and arab customers.

Sadly, on all occasions it turned out to be Justin Trudeau.

 

Thanks for reading.

Not Tired of Life, Just Tired of Manchester (pubs)

I’ve never liked crowds; or being honest, people in general, the thronging masses of homo sapiens and their need to get wherever they are going and quickly as they can and fuck everyone else. Or the opposite of this, who toddle along or stop and chat on stairs or outside doors and are a general nuisance to everyone trying to get somewhere. Misanthropy can make you view things in extremes but all I see it common sense not being that common.

When I stopped working in Manchester I stopped having to commute through Manchester and I stopped having to go to pubs there to console my time wasted as another train or bus home was late, delayed or cancelled.

I started working and therefore drinking, in earnest, in Manchester some 15 years ago, not long in the scheme of things but a lot has changed in those years and I suspect a lot of people who communicate about beer probably weren’t old enough to drink back then either. For a point of reference it was a time before Port Street Beer House existed, then during, when it opened and became excellent and then further down the line, when it went on to become arrogant and shit.

During the past few weeks I’ve drunk in many towns and cities on extended holidays, especially in London, a place I have also seen change over the past decade or so I’ve made regular trips down there for drinks and the purposes of entertainment and relaxation (get your mind out of the gutter).

I note how the first stop is the Euston Tap and they just seem to be coasting along, resting on their laurels and the captive audience they have but at least that place was deserving of a pedestal at one time, unlike its Manchester Piccadilly counterpart which has always been a hollow shell.

I entertained finally going to the Bermondsey beer mile, if only to indulge my love of Kernel Brewery beers but they don’t open apart from to sell bottles and seeing as very few of the micro (call them craft if you so wish) London breweries are actually much cop (Weird Beard being one rare exception), it wouldn’t be worth my time or money. Full marks to Kernel for not being a slave to trends which now seems to have convinced people that drinking in industrial units under heavy neon lights surrounded by a bit of art is tip-top entertainment. I like Fox’s Biscuits and Heinz Beans but you wouldn’t see me clamouring to get to the a taste of those wares in the factories at Batley and Kitt Green, far better to consume them at home, in the warmth, away from notice-me-wankers (and probably Greg(g) Wallace).

London as a whole has changed, always a heaving metropolis, the description that opens this piece fits it best, though I’ve always respected the seeming fact that London centre pubs are treated as iconic and as necessary furnishments to the economy, something that Manchester, in its clamour to look exactly like London spectacularly loves to ignore and destroy. The personal epiphany though was that all the pubs in London I went in to were havens from the gaggling hordes, something I can’t say for Manchester.

That my opening gambit in every pub and bar I went into was “do you still take cash?” and only once was the answer a “no” still heartens me.

I thought it was just city drinking I was dulled to however not only tolerating but actually enjoying recent trips to Leeds, York, Edinburgh and Sheffield and a whole host of small towns coupled with the London excursion showed that maybe its a case that familiarity breeds contempt and it is well possible because every time I’ve been back to Manchester it has just been a bit meh.

I speak for me, this is my “Rekall moment,” and not to slight the pubs, old and new that are there or the drinks that are on offer.  I am fully aware I’m the factor here.

This piece seems to be acting as a nice intro into another small bit I’m working on called “My Love of Holt’s Pubs” which will be published, when I can be bothered.

 

I’m Linus van Pelt and pubs, except for those in the centre of Manchester are my security blanket.

 

Thanks for reading.

 

Oh, of note in London pubs.  Cask beer was significantly improve over recent years (I don’t take my own thermometer though).  Sam Smith’s pubs vary in whether they bother in enforcing their “no mobiles” rule or not.

Beer People Are…Fans of Assault

Turns out I was wrong and that the guy behind @themadbrewery twitter handle is the guy who “milkshaked” Farage.

It’s amazing how hair loss can change the appearance of a person.

So not only is he now a convicted criminal, unemployed, fat and unnecessarily ugly* he is also losing his hair, and all at 32.  Brian Epstein, Bruce Lee and Mama Cass never achieved this much before they died.

But yeah, political violence…whoo.

When I first saw the news that the guy had pleaded guilty to assault and criminal damage I went in search of his account to find he had locked it again but as per my duff old phone, it allowed me to see all the replies to him and quite a few caught my eye as I recognised their names.

One in particular a Mr. Matthew Curtis

What a total prat.  The kind of bloke, or close approximation*, who hides behind the bully going “yeah!”

Then I noted a fundraiser had been started for the assailant to cover his costs and fines.

Oh…who’s that again…

Now granted you can add any name you want to these things, what is more shocking is the lowly fiver donation, perhaps the beer grift doesn’t pay that well after all, or maybe it is someone pretending to be him (or honestly has the same name).

 

Reading through twitter and the comments on the fund raiser you do have to laugh at the mental gymnastics of it all, especially from the prick that set it up.

How everyone detests Farage so this kind of violence is acceptable.

Detests? Hmmm, a synonym of detests is hate.

And throwing things at people is a crime.

Oh god, these people are justifying a “hate crime.”

 

“He shouldn’t have to face further punishment because he has already lost his job.”

Because only one of either the law courts or an accused employers should be responsible for the sentencing of a criminal.  Shit, if only Ian Huntley was sacked from his job as a caretaker then he needn’t have been convicted of life imprisonment for the murder of two children, really the legal system is all backwards.

It’ll be fun, when part of your future employment is to have your financial transactions combed through.

“Let’s see, it says here Mr. Curtis you like to donate a fair bit to crowd funding sites.”

“Yes, I like to support people within the brewing industry.”

“Can you give us some examples, please?”

“Certainly, apart from my presence as a social media influencer I’ve also donated to getting new equipment for a whole manner of breweries in order that they may expand the out put and also to start ups.”

“Excellent; very commendable, who is this Paul Crowther you’ve donated to, was he the owner of a start up brewery?”

“He was a home brewer who was also convicted of criminal damage and assault.”

“Right.  Thank you for your time.”

 

Lets get this straight.  What anyone does with their own money is up to them but don’t be even so much as questioning someone else’s morals or political persuasions or thought or speech if you’re willing giving your money over to anyone who is a stranger and a criminal.

You may as well donate your money to the Nigerian generals that send you spam requests if that’s your view in life.

 

Thanks for reading.

 

*Red Dwarf, Season Five, Episode 1 – Holoship.

I Fantasise About Throwing Chorlton Brewery’s Battery Acid Beers at Jo Brand

The title is a joke.

It is also a massive lie.

I’ve never fantasised about Jo Brand.  I wouldn’t even rape Jo Brand.  The only time I see her is if she is on my tele and then I quickly change the channel before she makes another witty observation about cake.

I wouldn’t possess any of Chorlton Brewery’s “battery acid” beers to throw at her either as I wouldn’t have bought them, seeing as they are hard to find in Manchester for a start and therefore the only other way of getting them would be to stove in Mike’s head, or any other employee that may still work there, with a brick and steal some.

Of course I wouldn’t do any of that because bestowing physical violence, rape and theft are criminal acts and particularly heinous and nasty ones at that.

Jokes aren’t crimes.

Well, they shouldn’t be but in this day and age words and offence are far more easily taken than given.

Count Dankula – convicted of “gross indecency” for making a joke

He was warning about this.

This blog has been warning about this.

Well, not the general public.  We all carry on working as normal, having a drink and getting on with our lives and then wonder what has happened to the world around us

The mass media, the social media users and the political bubble make up the rules, make up the arguments and the faux outrage and somehow this is how laws are drafted these days.

When I was growing up it was “the right” that got offended by jokes.

In more recent history, back when Frankie Boyle had an edge and hadn’t happily compromised it for a BBC pay check he got in to trouble making a joke about the Queen.

Furore but nothing much happened.  Though Boyle didn’t last much longer on TV after that, mainly because his Channel 4 TV show wasn’t as funny as his stand-up.

This has flipped, sort of, in the last 3 years to “the left” now getting upset at everything.

Danny Baker was sacked for a tweeted joke he made.  He made it in a personal capacity.  Also at the expense of the royal family.  He apologised but in this instance the BBC sacked him.

Jo Brand made a joke about throwing acid instead of milkshakes at people she disagreed with.

And so “the right,” trying to take notes out of the new left’s offence play book have kicked up a fuss to the extent that now our useless and wholly ineffective Prime Minister has stepped in.

Boyle and Brand probably weren’t at the time/aren’t employed by the BBC, contract wise, so short of not hiring them again they can’t do much.  In both of these instances though, the programmes were recorded, edited and then the material was deemed suitable for broadcast.

Which it is.

Because it’s a fucking joke.

Baker, being employed by the BBC, was able to be sacked and as such some would say this “right wing outrage” is merely to highlight the inconsistency shown by the BBC and media in general, towards anyone said not to be on “the left.”

I get that but this action merely greases the slope even more.  It normalises bullshit like this and makes it easier for the police to waste their time investigating non-crimes like this when they should be doing real criminal investigations.  Like wrong think on social media.

 

 

Thanks for reading.

 

Any Pump Clip You Want – As Long as its Plain

There is a logical fallacy known as slippery slope, thin end of the wedge, or domino theory.  Only when it comes to public health it seems to be playing out exactly as predicted.

Start with banning smoking in public.  Then hiding cigarettes.  Then making the packaging not look to appealing to anyone who has the misfortune to lay their eyes on it and have a such weak and feeble mind as to be convinced there and then to tack up the habit.

And then when we start “saving lives” but losing tax revenue it’ll be time to find something else to blame to keep the coffers full.

Salt was a big thing a few years ago but the sudden push on sugar in foods, with soft drinks being the first industry to be heavily punished with levies which subsequently led manufacturers to change their recipes so they now taste shit because of all the artificial sweeteners used to replace sugar.

I went into my local the other day and as I was with a designated driver they were on the soft drinks.  All options were; light, diet, sugar free or “max” – a water was ordered, well done pub you’ve just cost yourself some cash because you didn’t give adults the option of a full and free choice.

The populace is being conditioned (nudged) to be use to the nanny state looking out for the best interests so much so that it was only a matter of time till this happened.

Call for plain packaging for unhealthy drinks and snacks to combat preventable disease

Beer will be next.

Articles with a clear anti-alcohol bias have been around for ages but the temperance movement, emboldened by the nanny state have gone into overdrive, much like this article

Girl and Tonic blogger: ‘Giving up booze helped me buy my house’

The more truthful and sensible headline would be “Idiot realises that saving cash will help in future purchases” but instead we have to get a feature on a lifestyle twat and their stunning and brave decisions.

Nothing is more aesthetically unpleasing as walking into a bar and seeing a hand written pump clip, well perhaps jaggedly cut fluorescent flashes for drinks promotions but nothing puts me off buying a beer more than a lack of pump clip.

Then again pump clips are expensive, so sending out hand written paper clips would help with the margins, meh, get the bar to do it themselves and save even more cash.

This reminded me of the clash between Tiny Rebel and the Portman group over the design of one of their cans.

Just think how much money Tiny Rebel would save if their new cans were just had plain.

 

In fact all breweries may get in on this.  It could be a good thing in the long run for all micro breweries.  What a sight it could be when the shelves of independent beer shops could look like this.

It’ll be a brave new world

 

Writing this I thought of “Any Colour You Like” by Pink Floyd and then in popped another song of Dark Side of the Moon and stayed there all day.

 

Thanks for reading.

Chorlton And the Wheelie Stupid Mike

Clearly a fascist. Milkshake this little old lady.

 

I’ve never understood why people, in their twitter bios put stuff like “work for XYZ, all views my own.”

In this day and age of outrage no amount of extra followers putting who you work for gains you could measure up to the possible unemployment you face if you say the wrong thing.

It is even more daft if you have a personal account but choose to put you own political thoughts, as benign or as violent as you think they are, via your own business account.

As I wrote yesterday’s blog piece about the milkshaking of Nigel Farage; a supposed brewer claiming responsibility and of how politics and beer don’t mix well I thought to myself, I wonder if my favourite woke brewery has a take on this but that was only a thought and I couldn’t be bothered to expose myself to his witterings.

I went to the brewery opening (it is quite cringeworthy reading yourself back after all these years)

I wrote about his tweet about wanting Trump killed (and I’m promptly breaking the not shaming part of this piece but hey, if you’re an offence archaeologist, go hunt for that tweet, it will still be there).

I predicted the brewery might not make it to 2019 (I was clearly wrong, so far).

 

Lord give praise that today I get to pen my fourth piece of this wazzock because he has yet again come out and called not for the continued milkshaking but for the bricking of fascists.

 

On his business account.

 

What are fascists?  Well start from Farage and then basically he will decree who else is to be bricked.

“We can save the world, we can free everyone, even those that didn’t realise they needed saving.”

 

Fortunately he then moved on to his own personal account to continue his war of words with anyone that wanted to have it out with him.

He probably thought his political insights sounded like…

Every commies favourite homophobic murderer

Instead, as he rapidly approaches 50 he actually sounds like

 

His personal account is now locked.

To be fair to him; he is at least honest and knows the woke play book better than most, that you should never really apologise or your enemies will just keep piling on and on and on.

His business address is out there, his home address may be out there too.

I’m unsure how many staff he actually has put in danger because of his nonsense, though of course any violence that befalls anyone is solely on the perpetrator.

He did claim for a while that he wasn’t being serious (on the brewery account) hence the smiley he included in the initial tweet; though his true, raw and real violent thoughts were there for all to screen grab on his personal account.

Which then leads me to ask the question.  If someone were to scrawl a swastika on the roller shutter of his brewery (please do not do this) but adds a smiley face, then it’s OK, it isn’t criminal damage, it isn’t anti-Semitic graffiti, it isn’t a violent threat?

 

The political hypocrisy in the beer world and the bloggers that report on it is real and putrid, but hey Communism is not fascism so yay!

 

Thanks for reading.