7339/19859
My daughter’s football team continued their impressive run of losses (she has so far never played a match that they haven’t lost), taken down 6-4 by a team from Stevenage. Though there were some very dubious referreeing decisions and Phoebe’s team had come back from 3-0 down to 3-3 and it could have gone either way. Of course the score doesn’t matter at this level… except to Phoebe who was inconsolable. She is her father’s daughter. I told her that I used to hate to lose. As if I had somehow got over that. It didn’t make it hurt any less. She’s still getting stuck in and is fast and bold. In those respects, unlike her dad.
We went to soft play in Hatfield to meet some friends who were passing through.
The Galleria seems like something from the 70s in many ways, but is an impressive old Cathedral to commerce. But we passed the shops and headed for the soft play. In the past it used to wrench at my heart and brain if I couldn’t see the kids and couldn’t imagine being the kind of dad who just let them run off and do their own thing. I’m still cautious and afraid, but it felt pretty enclosed and safe and I only took a casual interest in how they were getting on. They survived the hour.
I’d been desperate for a wee but waited til the session was over and then headed to the loo. I went in a cubicle which is usually my preference due to shy bladder syndrome. I am more or less over that problem thanks to the advice in my own show, Talking Cock, but old habits die hard and why not have the luxury of privacy.
I came out and headed to the sinks to wash my hands, which I occasionally bother with. Another man seemed to be skirting round the edge of the bathroom and was in my way. He looked vaguely disgusted. With me? I’d just done a wee, I promise. But then he spoke to someone behind me. “You’d better clear that up,” he said with scarcely concealed contempt. “I will,” said a laughing young voice behind me. I turned to see a teenager disappearing into the cubicle next to mine. What was he supposed to clear up? I looked down and there was a large, human (presumably) wet turd lying on the floor outside the door he’d just shut. I must have passed inches from it as I exited my own cubicle.
I was confused and slightly nauseous and finished washing my hands and left. But I do not understand what had happened. How had the turd ended up there. I didn’t get a good look at the poop perp but he seemed to have clothes on. Had he literally just dropped his trousers and pooed on the floor? If so, why? There was an empty cubicle less than a turd’s length away. I’ve been in the position where I am desperate for a poo, but not so desperate that I’d give up that close to the goal. And if he’d just laid it on the floor why was he so jovial about it all and why was he going into the cubicle and why wasn’t he tidying up the mess immediately?
Had it slipped out of his trouser leg? Had he been carrying it from somewhere else? If only I had asked the disgusted man, who had clearly seen more than me and knew this guy bore the responsibility.
I am not saying Hatfield is stuck in the past but people there think it’s acceptable to shit on the floor. Or put shit on the floor.
Did he have a dog with him that I hadn’t seen? It’s the only explanation I can think of. The dog had pooed and the man was too desperate for the loo to pick it up…. But I saw no dog. I heard no dog. And the poo, from my brief look (and taste test - no not really) seemed too human. Or at least too big to be from the kind of dog that could have slipped into a toilet cubicle unnoticed.
This mystery will haunt me to my grave and the smell haunted me for a good few minutes.
Avoid Hatfield, would be my only take home from this. Though the soft play seemed fine. The soft poo, less so.
