Five Toilet Tales

Art Allen was only in the Union Bar toilets for a short time but his experience seems to be unforgettable!


It’s Saturday night and the men’s football social is oozing from booth to bar and back, the theme tonight appears to be Southern educated sportsman – chinos, ties, and you can tell you’re looking at down jacket owners. Outside, women’s rugby initiations seem to require everyone to be dressed as circus performers; frighteningly homogeneously.  Ring masters gesticulate and mostly make out the initiates through a mass of mascara, still managing to show enough arse for everyone. However, this is not where the real story is at.

The true happening hub of this bar is, in fact, the toilets. Between the menial man’s stomach acidy nightmare of the far cubicle and the aluminium trough, this seems to be the optimum place for anecdote making.

This is the truth: Two ‘lads’ are at the urinal, shouting about in loud, Guy Ritchie accents (contrived between prep and grammar school). One turns to the other and initiates something horrific.
“Alright, let’s play like a fucking game while we piss, yeah? I’m gonna say a fit celebrity geezer and you gotta say a fitter one.”
I’ve never come across this particular game before but am already enraptured.
“Fucking yeah mate, okay, you go.!
“Hugh Grant!”
This last pronounced with the knowing certainty of a diehard fan was rebuked with speed.
“David Beckham!”
“Oh yeah mate, Orlando Bloom!”
“Samuel L Jackson!”
Then this.
“Mate I’m not racist yeah, but he is black.”

I’m sorry, what? You aren’t a racist but the Pulp Fiction legend is black. What does that even mean? That he isn’t attractive? That he is so very surpassingly unattractive he shouldn’t count? What? Sickeningly, at this point, the other guy sells out his belief in Samuel L Jackson with “Oh yeah, yeah he is!” as though he’s just had an epiphany. This isn’t a parable, it’s just horrendous.

Instantly something else quotable happened; another pair of guys walks in with pecs bursting out of Topman v necks and as they prepare to piss, one turns to the other and is sick. On their penis. Actually spits up on their penis. And I’m sure some reaction would have happened if either had noticed.
Directly after this, some insecure prop enters and begins to chant with joyous abandon and a slightly competitive air “My cock is better than yours”.

Excuse me? Is it? If it’s sick free then it’s better than that guy’s. But come on. Really. Then I see the true depth of this guy as he turns to his friend and stage whispers a true Mission Impossible for his Tom Cruise member. He slurs this plan.
“Mate I am gonna go back out after this and be sick all over the bar. I’m gonna be sick. Then I am gonna fuck all the bar maids. Fucking yeah.”

Wow. I hope I’m around when you try that. I mean wow. And there are only guys behind the bar at the moment. Right now I’m hand washing and retreating when this happens.
A fresher at the urinal turns, mid flow, like a sprinkler system, genuinely spraying the floor with recently internal Fosters and crosses to the sinks, fully flowing. I don’t know how his brain lost to his bladder but it did. He actually dodges around someone leaving, still pissing, to get to the basins where he proceeds to start washing his hands while splashing against the ply wood. No, no good fellow. I think that your attempt at super efficiency hasn’t worked here.One stage must definitely be fully over before the next can begin. He was just finishing as I left; shaking off and drying his hands simultaneously.

Slightly traumatised, I catch a glimpse of the ladies as I go; it’s full of clowns, crying.