998 words about a broken urinal

The bell at reception rang this evening.

It does that from time to time.

Not very often but when it does – I answer the call.

A bit like the A-Team would but with more swearing and less cars blowing up and far fewer catchy one liners.

I slipped on my boots and ventured out to reception to see what was so bloody important that it required me to pause last week’s episode of Doctor Who on the laptop.

I was met by a camper who had this witty line to say.

“I think the urinal is blocked. It’s overflowing!”

My retort was not one of joy and adulation I’m sure you can imagine.

Not one of my best Tuesday evenings.

I had, as stated at the beginning of this blog entry, settled down for the evening with my feet undressed for a treat and had just finished off a particularly nice bag of Seabrook crisps whilst allowing my imagination to be taken on a mystical journey of science fiction and fantasy as only the BBC can, when all hell broke loose.
I ventured into the gents to find the afore mentioned urinal indeed overflowing with piss.

Im sorry dear reader but there is no other way to say it.

I stared at my adversary and pondered “what would the doctor do?”

Unfortunately, there is no such thing in the real world as a sonic screwdriver and neither do I have a dumb as shit assistant in a short denim skirt to do the dirty work for me. I do however have a pair of yellow marigolds and a bucket.

A very poor conciliation prize indeed for events such as these.

After 15 minutes or so of draining the U bend and scrubbing away with little wire brush added with the application of a sprinkle of soda crystals – the job was completed.

A quick mop down and a bloody good scrubbing of my hands, wrists and arms later the job was done.

But really!

What are people pissing out that can cause an inch thick plastic pipe to bung up like that.

It really was awful.

Mans pee is supposed to be water and bits of unwanted skin cells and a bit of used up blood.

There is no need at all EVER for there to be so much gunk.

I dread to think what passes through the human body at times.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve put stuff into my own body during states of copious alcohol abuse that doesn’t bear thinking about but the blackest of black horribleness and filthy yuk that clung to the inside of those pipes was just like a monster that would be right at home on Doctor Who or even the X-Files.

I’m sorry to bring this up and write about it for you to mistakenly read, believing that it would be some kind of witty or satirical piece about modern politicals or Ryan Giggs or even just another excuse to put a picture of a dwarf on here, but I really am so massively depressed over the state of human kind.

And yes you are right, i could have kept all this to myself and written anything else but i haven’t i couldn’t and i won’t.

YOU need to hear this.

When the best of what I see every day when i clean the facilities on this campsite
is what the body no longer needs, day in and day out, it affects a person.
Sometimes I have clean it off the floor or even more bizarrely off the walls.
It has been known for me to wake up in the mornings, turn on the radio and hope – really pray for the headlines to tell me that there has been a huge outbreak of some horrible disease that has wiped out a third of mankind, but just the dirty ones. The ones who can’t or rather won’t tidy up after themselves.

The ones who stink.

The great unwashed.

People whose scent is offensive.

Those whose filth still lingers after they have left a room, to the point you can almost still see them like a shadow or a whisper of their smell.
If there is a god who loves man kind or has any kind of affection for the continuation of us all as a species then surely he or she can do something about these people.

I’m not bothered about racists.

I couldn’t care less about murderers.

Smelly people though, have no place in today’s society.

They should be shipped off to one of the far flung colonies.

Or drop them all into a war zone. That would stop the fighting.

Nobody would willingly risk their own life if it bloody stunk to high heaven because they were faced with the stink of piss.

Even a suicide bomber would get off the bus if he had to sit next to guy that 40% urine.

I can still smell it now you know. Ghost piss.

It’s horrible and I find myself questioning if I want you to share the moment with me because I hate everyone.


Uuuuughhh.


It’s not normal urine this.

This is urinal that has lay stagnant for weeks in a U bend. Just settling. Waiting for more of its kind to compress it down and concentrate its odour.

Vile.

I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want you to know how it smelt.

Do not read this blog entry.

Thankfully I managed to clear it all up and clean the whole area so nobody else has to smell it.

However, the experience did rather spoil my enjoyment of the ending of Doctor Who somewhat so I can only give that episode a 6 out of 10 which is a shame because it ended on cliff hanger that won’t be resolved until it return later this year – but the baddies did all turn into a gloopy mixture that was just like the stuff i had to get rid of – spooky eh?