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Fencing Sculptor's Diary

The Ramblings of a Reluctant Civil Servant

It’s not the years honey it’s the mileage…
me
fencingsculptor
…Although it could quite possibly be the years too.

I woke up this morning and there were a few muscle groups that ‘wanted a bit of a word’ I could list them…but as a time saving exercise let's just say from the Gluteus down are less than pleased with me this morning.

No Talking in the Toilets....its the Law !
me
fencingsculptor
Everyone knows it's simply not done to talk in the bogs.

Full Stop.

There are other rules as well, for instance one can’t proceed with ’processes’ if for example there is some one else in the next cubicle.
I'm English you see and we just don't do this sort of thing in a public/crowded environment.

So you can imagine my horror this morning when the following came to pass (no pun intended) while ensconced in a cubicle.

The gents toilet was completely empty when I went in and having checked that tit was clean, I popped1 into one of the cubicles next to a wall , which for some reason feels more comfortable. This left the other two neighbouring cubicles vacant.

Lavatory etiquette decrees that if the far left cubicle is occupied the next person wish to utilise the facilities should select the vacant cubicle which is furthest away from the occupied one.

This did not happen.

Some lumbering oaf shuffled into the cubicle next to me banging against the wall and knocking the door and crime of crimes allowed his foot to appear beneath the wall of my cubicle !

For those of you of a delicate disposition you may wish to stop reading here for what I am about to describe is not for the feint of heart.

Since the fundamental laws of lavatory occupation had been broken by occupying an adjacent cubicle , you will understand that I was unable to to block out the following audible chain of events

The followed the sound of a belt unbuckling.
And Shuffling.
A toilet seat clattered noisily down
Then the sound of a zip.

Then there was a low gruff voice “Ohhhhhhhh that’s good”

I sat2 frozen to the spot…..

For only after this utterance, did the sound of garments being removed occur followed by the inevitable horror of ’other sounds’

I was horrified…out raged.

Fortunately I had all but finished what I was there to do and was able to proceed to do up trousers and belts and flies…thus ensuring that I had priority to complete my ablutions at the sink without this miscreant emerging from his cell.
What can I say in summery, other than there should be clear laws governing such appalling behaviour.

1 Popped Not Pooped !
2 Sat Not shat !

There will be a short interval
me
fencingsculptor
Well intervals....
Interval training to be precise.

I joined my old training pal Pat for a lunchtime run today……

Same route as yesterday, only as Pat was involved the general levels of ‘evil’ barsteward-ness was upped. Considerably.

Interval training right along the length of the North Bank of the Thames and knocking out a fast paced sprint along the South Bank stretch of Battersea Park.

Both Sets of Quadriceps, Tibailis Anteriors, Gluteus and Gastrocenimeus are now really rather ticked of f, and my Patella tendon and Achilles are really really angry.

I’ve told the lads that they can have a nice long soak in the bath tonight.

….but really….I’m taking them to the Gym !!!!

The trouble with going for a death Run at Lunch Time....
me
fencingsculptor
is that right about now, I could just curl up and doze off, all be it whimpering slightly.

I can stand...just as long as I have something to lean on.

Strong black coffee and Ibuprofen is our frieeeeeeend !