Family / Our Hero

Down the Pan

Okay, when last we left our hero he was using the hasty withdrawal method from Ann Summers in Colchester on the eve of last Valentine’s Day.

The withdrawal method being, stumbling, in a somewhat pathetic manner away from a chorus of “Hello Sir!”, from a gaggle of grinning year 10 girls straight out of his GCSE ICT class.

With haste.

In this episode, we meet our hero at his wife’s award evening for her L20 Assessor’s Award – for assessing the training of cover supervisors (yes for those of you doing the job out there, you can get training for that kind of self-abuse). Disappearing after the photo’s & speeches, he leaves his glasses on the table and go’s in search of relief from all that coffee & ice water left on the tables to keep everyone awake.

Wandering into the small room at the end of the corridor, he notices, with only mild interest, that there appears to be nowhere to stand against the wall, so he enters the first cubicle on the right and go’s about his errand.

toiletAlarm bells begin to sound as the next person enters the room, and the loud “clack, clack, clack, clack” of hard, pointed heels, sounds across the tiled floor. The new person enters the cubicle next to our hapless individual. There ensues the sound of a zip and the sort of slapping of elastic that is not usually heard from male underwear. Followed by the sort of softer vocalisations you would not imagine coming from many men. Well, not in those circumstances anyway.

“B@!!@cks.” Thinks our hero. He slides up to the far wall of his cubicle, hiding his shoes so as not to be casually observed under the doors, which now seem to have a two foot gap between them and floor. A gap which is growing every second our hero remains in his predicament.

There now ensues a constant bl@@dy flow of clacking on tiles and the slap of knicker elastic, as our hero tries to figure out if the area outside the cubicles is clear. Concentrating and counting the number of times he hears the doors and the clacking of the heels past his own cubicle, he seizes his chance, whips open the cubicle door and lunges for the exit. Hoping against hope that he doesn’t meet anybody on their way in.

Clearing the exit, he turns nonchalantly to a row of leaflets on the wall and studies them with great focus as two women file past him in search of their own relief, free from perverts listening to the slap of their knickers. Once they’re past, our hero realises he has been studying various leaflets on such subjects as the availability of the morning after pill, general female contraception, female hygiene, pregnancy advice for teenage mothers and women-only STD clinics.

“B@!!@cks.” Thinks our hero.

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