Guest Blogger.

When recounting my bowel-related tales of this holiday to the author of this blog I struggled to remember anything significant happening on my trip to Peru, but now having re-read the poo diary I kept while there I have realised that it is in fact pure filth throughout. For the fourteen days I was in Peru I excreted a total of seventeen movements averaging out at 1.21 Poos per Day (PPD). While most people may not think this is a high average when travelling to a foreign country; compare this to the 0.64 PPD I experienced for the 14 days prior to this trip. Was it the change in diet that caused this? Perhaps a change in the mineral content of the water I was drinking? Whatever the reason for this change, I hope it and the stories I’ve provided are amusing enough for you all to read as they were for me to reminisce about.

My first bowel movement occurred in Manchester airport at 3am. Having abandoned an unflushed and shit-covered cubicle in favour of a cleaner one I was promptly joined in the bathroom by some raucous young men clearly on their way abroad for a “lads” week away. One of them kindly entered the cubicle next to me and took a very speedy, airy dump. Luckily this was the last time I was rudely interrupted in the sweet art of dropping a load for the rest of the trip.

Having felt no need to go on the plane (an unusual occurrence for me) I took my first dump in the country of Peru about 1:15pm in our hotel room right before a trip around the Colonial centre of Lima and immediately blocked the toilet with a large Bristol Stool Scale Type 4 log. After unblocking the toilet, the crisis was not yet finished as, while wiping, I noticed a sign which stated that Peruvian plumbing is not equipped to deal with foreign bodies such as toilet paper and that I would have to put my used paper in a bin next to the toilet. I have purposely avoided countries like Greece for this very reason, but despite my disgust I obliged and placed the used paper in the bin.

The next day we flew to Cusco to explore Incan sites in the city and the surrounding area before the start of the Inca trail. As eventful as the exploring was the story down below was less eventful. The next four days consisted of two single poo days and two double poo days with nothing interesting to tell from my point of view. At the Inca trail briefing however, there was a man discussing the diarrhoea he contracted in the jungle. At this point I did consider getting him to guest blog for this guest blog to provide some interesting material, but I decided against it as he seemed to be mentioning it for health reasons, rather than recreationally.

The local diet in Cusco was more starch-based than I’m used to, consisting of a lot of potatoes and corn. I knew this would catch up with me eventually and it did so on the first day of the Inca trail with this being the only day in Peru without a registered poo. I did however notice the toilet we were expected to use in camp which consisted of a very small fabric tent concealing inside a plastic foldable toilet with a bag in the bottom for the waste. (A picture of this is included below). It wasn’t until the next day I got to sample the delights of this toilet. I initially tried to squat over the toilet rather than sit on it. Unfortunately I very quickly realised that the tent was so small I wouldn’t be able to do this. So I did what anyone would do in such a situation. I changed angle to give myself more room and sat down. Plastic touched skin and I thought this would be the end of the ordeal, business completed, success! I was wrong however. No movement occurred despite my overwhelming need to go. A few minutes past; at this point most people would have given up and walked away feeling defeated. Not me, I clamped my hands down on the toilet and pushed the movement out. My delight at this though was outweighed by the significant wiping I had to do afterwards (during which I also managed to break the toilet roll holder); meaning that I had not emptied my system fully and that the next day a similar ordeal would likely occur.

We stopped for lunch the next day at 10:30am and after eating, my body decided that this is where I would be finishing the job I’d started the day before. The tent was being used at the time so I chose to use the toilet block located at this rest stop. Inside was what is known in my family as a “French toilet” but I believe is more commonly known as a “squat toilet”. This toilet would have seemed quite luxurious if it wasn’t for all the mud covering the white tiles on the floor (I hope it was mud). Squatting over the toilet with my pants down around my ankles I struggled at first to get anything moving so I adjusted into a lower squat where nothing happened still. I adjusted upwards again causing it to come loose. I had perfected the squatting technique six years ago in Tanzania, but now, being a bit out of practise my aim was a little off and the paste that left my body managed to end up all over the back of the toilet. I readjusted and squatted again for round two. This time, with perfect aim, the rest of everything leaving my body landed straight in the hole. I wiped up and would have casually walked away if the flush hadn’t caused the toilet to overflow (a downside of this toilet style), causing me to dash out of the cubicle instead.

The final day of the Inca trail passed almost uneventfully. I felt no need at all to go until we returned to our hotel in Cusco; it was in fact my travelling companion’s bowel movement that was today’s highlight. He managed to completely block the toilet with a beast that could not be budged; even by several flushes of the toilet. This was due to the fact that he had not been for the entirety of the Inca trail (something he revealed to me at a later date). 

Another movement that same day was followed by a three poo day which rounded off my time in Cusco, while the last day of the trip in Lima was a rather unexciting single poo day, followed by another on the first of two travel days. This last Peruvian movement was rather unpleasant as it occurred at about 6:10am after being awoken by a burning sensation in my bowels. To this day I have no idea what caused this; the running theory being that it may have been a delayed, adverse reaction to the Guinea Pig I ate two nights before in Cusco, but with nothing concrete I have put it down to one of life’s many mysteries. The final day of travelling saw me feel absolutely no urge to go to the toilet as I returned home; it then became apparent that the adventure was over and my bowel’s normal service had been resumed.

New beginnings

It's been 4 weeks since I bid an emotional farewell to my old workplace latrine and whilst I am over the worst of the pain, I have yet to find a suitable replacement. Put a dog in an unfamiliar environment and it will sniff around curiously before settling down in it's new spot. I am still sniffing around.

The first week of my new job saw me go down to the main office which meant staying overnight for 3 nights in a hotel. Unsure what the days would hold in store for me I made sure, on my first two days, to go before I left the hotel room. In a world of uncertainty I wanted one assurance, that I could go in peace. The toilets in a premier inn act as a log flume and as a result of this, combined with first week nerves, meant that the Eastern European cleaners had a real job on their hands to remove the pebble dashing effect I had left behind. They sure earned their £1.50 per hour that day.

Day three saw me shadowing a member of my team at a client. It was an early start and I awoke long before my bowels did. I knew I was going to have to go at the clients site. My main issue is that in my first week I don't want to be "the  guy who goes for a shit", that is an aspect of my personality that needs to be slowly introduced to people. I had no reason to leave the room we were in other than to go to the toilet, if I was a long time he'd know where I was. Never the less I upped and left the room at around 11, dashed to the toilet, got in and got out as quickly as possible, no messing around on my phone, no chilling. Upon returning to the room I was quick to cover my tracks "god this place is like a little rabbit warren, I walked right past the toilets". This would reasonably explain the extra time and to my colleague there would be no suspicion. I was extremely  proud of myself.

Week 2 rolled round. I had returned home but I was ready for my second first week. My new role sees me based almost entirely on site with a client rather than at the head office so this felt more like my first week than my actual first week. This is where I would need to find a new throne. I had a tour of the building and decided to check out the toilets, I didnt need to go but a quick inspection wouldn't hurt. The ground floor mens toilet has two very nice cubicles, however, there is a lot more men working in this building compared to my old job and therefore there is a lot more traffic. I have chosen my favourite cubicle but I cant switch off in there, there's two much traffic and I don't feel like I can disconnect from the workplace.

The major issue with too much traffic is that inevitably someone else will need to go. To me, it will remain one of life's great mysteries that whenever I've been in a cubicle next to someone else, you can guarantee that they will have a case of the squits. Today I was the victim of one of these incidents. I was sat, slowly unloading whilst checking facebook, nice and relaxed. Then a horrible squelching sound comes echoing through the cubicle walls, I turned my head in disgust at the wall. The look on my face would be the same look you'd get for doing a loud fart in a library, or laughing at a funeral. What's worse is that these people aren't even self-concious of the sounds they are making as it is quite often followed by "OOOOOH GOD YEAH" before grunting and squelching some more.

I frequent my new toilet throughout the day for number 1 purposes. When I go in, my preferred cubicle is often in use by someone, I have to stand at the urinal whilst someone else commits and abhorrent act upon my throne. My old workplace toilet...I knew she spent time with other men but she never rubbed my face in it, I could pretend it didnt happen, it was all mine. I cant avoid it with my new one she just stands there and takes it like the slut it is.

I'm still searching for a special place, the right place. The ground floor one doesn't seem to be working out for me, a wider search of the building may be in order. If the worst comes to the worse my old work is only 5 mins down the road, would they miss me for 20mins? I could be reunited with my old love.

214) Farewell to and old friend

Today marked the final day at my current job before going out into the big wide world and starting a big boy graduate trainee job. I have made a lot of friends at this place of work who I will miss a lot, however, the one friend I will miss the most is the middle floor mens toilet. On a daily basis I have sought sanctuary in this mini-version of heaven. My mornings feel incomplete if I have not visited this cubicle.

To demonstrate why I love this toilet so much I have attached a couple of photos.

As you can see the cubicle is it's own room within a room, seemingly cut off from the rest of the world. It's a mens only cubilce and given that there is usually a maximum of 4-5 men in the building, it was a place I could go undisturbed for a good 15mins. When I sat in here nothing else mattered, if my work load was piling up and things were getting stressed I could take a break, unload and kick back for 5. This cubicle was like a best friend. In the coming weeks I will have to find a new cubicle, I will some how have to communicate to my new colleagues that this cubicle is mine at around 10:30 in the morning, but I will have to communicate this without damaging my "professional" image.

I have done 214 poos this year and a good number of them have been in this cubicle, you will be missed my friend. Thanks for putting up with all my shit.

My last poo :(

EXCITING NEWS

A friend of mine has gone to Peru for two weeks to do the Inca trail. Throughout the two weeks he will be keeping note of his bowel movements and will be writing a guest blog for Tales From the Rim

LONDON BABY

The  last bank holiday weekend for a couple of months saw me and the other half take a weekend trip to London. I'd like to start with a shout out to Penrith train station for their outstanding number two facilities. I nipped in for a quick pre-train pee and I couldn't help noticing the cubicles, they were nicely decorated spacious and clean it would have been an honor to lay a cable there and a little part of me was left upset that I didn't have one prepped and ready to go.

The train journey down left me feeling a little travel sick, my stomach was left rattled and I was sure I would need to go once I arrived in London, alas, when we got to the hotel I was clogged up, something which regularly happens when I travel.

Saturday night came round and there had still been no movement since Friday morning. We had dinner from an Indian food festival followed by a couple of drinks, this would either make me need to go or it would pile more food into the already quite interesting cocktail of foods sitting in my stomach. I awoke Sunday morning. Still no urge. It had been 48 hours since I last went, I wondered if I would ever poo again. We upped and left the hotel to do the usual London sights, Picadilly circus, Leicester Square followed by Covent Garden.

52 hours and still nothing  had appeared. If my bowel movements were a missing child  the whole neighborhood would be out searching for it. We sat down at Itsu for a raw fish sushi lunch, 'this should make things interesting', I thought. This started something, the urge hit me in M&M world two hours later, I suddenly became irritable and frustrated and was on the look out for a toilet.

54 hours after my last movement I sat down and relaxed. I gave birth to a monster. When a ship sets sail on it's maiden voyage, superstition dictates that a bottle of champagne is smashed against side of the ship. I felt this would have been a fitting tribute to what I had created but to my dismay I didn't have a bottle of champagne to hand. I sat back, glowing, in a post orgasmic state that is normally attributed to 1minute 36 seconds on pornhub. I felt like a new man, I had a new lease of life.

Like a bus, you wait ages for one and then two come along at once. We were back at the hotel and decided to take a trip to the 27th floor to see the views of London. As we looked towards Stamford bridge, I got the worst cramps in the world, I demanded we go back to room immediately. Usually when I'm desperate I'm very good at holding it in but not this time. I knew that I would not be able to hold this back. We rushed back to the room, never has an elevator taken so long to arrive. When we eventually got in I watched as the numbers slowly counted down from 27 to 9, hoping, praying that no one on the other floors had called for the lift. As it hit 9 I bolted out the lift, into the room and threw myself onto the toilet where a type 7 fell out of me. The remains of the previous nights Bombay special created a burning ring of fire. Cramp after cramp, wave after wave I sat on the toilet for a good 10 minutes suffering from the midday sushi. Thankfully this episode was a one off as opposed to a crippling illness which would have seen me running from toilet to toilet for the rest if the weekend. 

Monday morning came round without further incident. I had my usual morning poo before checking out of the hotel and heading for Wembley for the Boro vs Norwich play off final. It was in the first pub of the day where I felt that I could do with a poo, however, the pub was rammed there was no way I'd be able to do one.  I decided to wait. The whole  day we went from pub to pub but the toilets were so rammed it was hard to take a leak let alone something more solid. I wasn't desperate and the need wasn't urgent but I grew increasingly frustrated at the inability to unload. It wasn't until 7 hours later after the match that I was able to release. At last I was able to relax for the long drive home.

152) Aprils Round Up

When I started this blog I was still living with my parents and working in a deadend job. Now I have my own place and landed myself a decent graduate job. As I left the interview centre on 30th April I thought to myself "I've done it, I have my own place and a half decent career path, I'm a grown up" This thought was quickly brushed aside by the realisation that it was the end of the month and I would need to tally up my turds for the month. Don't worry people I'm not ready to grow up yet, I may now discuss gardening tips with family friends, I may discuss tips for the perfect meatball sauce with the ladies at work but I still have a very large place in my heart for my bowel movements.

April was a big month with 41 poos over the 30 day period which is an average of 1.36PPD - the highest of every month. The consistency of March was a massive contrast to the erratic month of April. Where March saw an 8 & a 7 day streak of singles, Aprils best was 3 single poo days in a row. Additionally, on two occassions in April I hit a total of 3 poos in a day. I recall feeling unwell between the 20th and the 22nd and this was reflected in my bowel movements and I notched up 2-3-2 over the 3 days.

This month contained a lot of birthdays (mine included), the first month living in my own house (and thus being able to walk to the pub) and an interview process so it is not surprising that I have been inconsistent and frequent. Here's hoping normal service is resumed in May.


Did you know? 
Despite having a job interview and a history of a nervous stomach I only defecated once on April 30th.

155) Start as you mean to go on.

I have recently applied for and been interviewed for a new job. The most recent round was little over a week ago. Suffice to say I was extremely nervous beforehand. I caught the early train and the nerves began to kick in, the blender in my bowels was in full swing. At Preston station I made straight for the toilets and unleashed an Armageddon. It was extremely satisfying and stress relieving but that is not the main focus of this post, more a small anecdote to start the day.

Tuesday morning back at the office and I was cracking on with a mundane spreadsheet that had been waiting for me following the bank holiday weekend. I noticed a missed call and a voice mail, it was the recruitment team wanting to discuss my interview. Unable to focus on my work I went to ring them back, I couldn't find anywhere discrete to make the call - I was very keen not to let anyone at work know I'd applied for a job until I'd got it. After a quick wander round the building to try and find somewhere quiet, I abandoned the idea of calling them back and decided to go for a belated morning dump. After dropping the kids off at the pool, I was well into my post-movement browsing when I suddenly realised this was the perfect place. It was quiet, there was good signal and if it was good news I could share it with my one true love, my porcelain princess.

"......and so on that basis we'd like to offer you the job", relief came over me and I suddenly zoned back into the room to realise I was talking to my future employer with an unwiped arse and my pants wrapped round my ankles. They were non the wiser. As the phone call drew to a close I suddenly realised that I would have to say goodbye to a lot of friends but worst of all I would have to say goodbye to the toilet. This toilet is the best toilet I have ever known, it's not a cubicle, it is it's own room nestled away in the building. The low ratio of men to women mean that it is barely used other than by me. The toilet at my new place of work will have a lot to live up to. The salary of my new job will be much higher but it will be hollow and meaningless if the toilet is not up to scratch. Here's hoping.

111) March Month End

Due to moving house the March update is coming a little later than usual. Moving house can be full tricky and annoying situations especially where half your stuff is at your new house and the other half is still at your parents house. For just over a week my poo chart was on the fridge at my parents house whilst I was laying cables at the new abode. I struggled through, marking off a couple of days at a time when I went to collect stuff out of my old room.

March was a very consistent month, my most consistent this year. Averaging 1.12 PPD (poos per day) I hit one a day on a consistent basis for most of the month. As with the previous two months I started the month off with a multipoo day by registering a double on the scoreboard. Out of the next 16 days, 15 were single poo days. In total only 6 out the 31 days were anything other than single poo days and only a single 0 was recorded. As stated March was a month of incredible consistency getting tantalisingly close to the holy grail which is the average of 1PPD. However despite regularly going once a day I noticed that the timings have lost their predictability, I rarely go at 10:30 any more, sometimes I am forced to go before work which I find deeply upsetting, although I feel this gives me justification to turn up 10mins late to work.


An update on the app, I think I will be getting a developer account soon so the app will be available to all android users (get bent apple). Additionally I have started work on a new app which will help you to calculate how much you earn by pooing at work.

111) Trauma

I am currently in the process of moving house and for my 110th poo of the year I christened the new toilet. I had anticipated that my next blog post would be about this event as it is a significant event for my bowels. I had planned on posting a glowing review of the toilet's flush which can handle a good load and I had also planned on posting about my excitement about the fact that the old dear who lived in the house before me had a grab rail installed next to the toilet (did she have mobility issues or was she a fellow poo enthusiast who liked to really force one out). This is what I had planned on doing, however what occurred later that day was a tale of trauma and distress.


After lunch, the other (lesser) half and I went shopping for household essentials. After an hour or so of filling the shopping basket with non-essentials and useless tat we popped into the morrissons next door. I felt the usual urge and I thought I'd much prefer a dump than a trip round the supermarket so I ducked away and into the cubicles. If I had my time again, this is one of the decisions I would change. The toilet was a bit on the grotty side but overall an ok place to lay my faeces. I settled down with my phone and tried to get a new high score on crossy road whilst leisurely laying a cable.

Some time later I was done and I reached across to take a ticket only to find that there was only a single sheet of toilet paper left. My face dropped and I started to panic as I tried to think of elaborate ways to wipe my arse using the contents of the cubicle, it's time like this I wish I was in the A-team. In the end I made very economical use of the one remaining sheet of toilet paper using the wipe-fold-wipe-fold method with the sheet eventually being folded into eighths. I feel someone must be looking down on me because thankfully this was enough completely clean the area. The stress, however, was not over there.

As I finished wiping, I glanced around the cubicle and I saw a small poo sitting in the corner by the wall, obviously left there by the previous tenant. I was initially grossed out but the smell was not overpowering and i'm not squeamish so overall it didn't bother me because it was just sat there out of the way minding it's own business. What was bothering me however, was the fact that the toilet was getting quite busy and I knew the second I stepped out the cubicle, someone would want to go in and they might think it was me. I summoned some courage, flushed and left.

Leaving the cubicle I saw someone notice me and head straight for the cubicle, I walked in a way that would block his route just to  buy me an extra second "sorry" I said as he had to walk round me. I dashed to the sink and looked back nervously, he was in the cubicle but standing up with his back to the small package left in the corner. Result! he hadn't seen the rouge turd lying there, as I went to turn my head back to the sink I caught his eye, he looked at me with a disgusted look on his face "did something die in here" he remarked. Normally I take pride in such a comment but I couldn't take the credit for this one. If I was an honest man I would have replied "Oh that wasn't me, that's because there's a shit on the floor behind you" instead I nervously laughed and bolted out of the toilets.

I returned to my female unit who was browsing away and pathetically whimpered that I wanted to leave and wanted to leave now. I explained that I had a distressing time but we were not allowed to leave. After a while I was sufficiently cheered up by doing multiple power slides with the trolley. Many of you might think that I have learnt a lesson about pooing in a public toilet but I have not, I will continue to lay cables whenever and wherever the need strikes.

100) Century

Saturday 21st March 2015 was a hotly anticipated day for the last week. My regularity this month has allowed me to accurately predict when my 100th poo of the year was going to be.

I awoke after a long sleep and carried out my usual routine of staying in bed for most of Saturday morning watching TV. My show of choice is currently 'house' a programme I've been meaning to watch for some time. I sat in bed with a cup of tea and some toast and mid-morning the urge struck. I debated putting on my finest suit to walk to the toilet but decided on some tatty joggers.

The movement itself was extremely un-noteworthy just a bog-standard Saturday morning poo, no urgency, no pain, no great size, not liquid and even the wipeage required was very average. This disappointed me greatly. How could a landmark dump disappoint me so much. Instead I decided to make a memorial video to mark the occasion.

98) The benefits of being disabled.

A much needed day of annual leave caused disruption to the germanic efficiency of my bowel movements. A late morning combined with minimal caffeine meant that I missed my usual 10:30 slot. However, due to not being at work, this did not cause much heartache.

An afternoon of shopping with the other half was on the cards, which was made worse by the fact that the Hawkins bazar had closed down leaving me with nothing in the town. Around 3pm we sat down in Costa for a midshop break and I had a cup of tea which kickstarted the final stages of my digestive system. Approximately 20 mins later I had a delightful urge to take a relaxing dump in house of fraser. I jumped at the opportunity to get away from the onslaught of "this is nice" "does this suit me?" "Ooo what about this one?" and I scurried off to find some toilets. 

I found the rest rooms and had a choice between the gents and the disabled toilet. Naturally I choose the disabled toilet for a number of reasons, not least the fact that i felt that the mother-load I was about to drop would leave me at the very least walking with a limp but could also potentially leave me requiring a wheelchair.

My second reason for choosing the disabled toilets is that they have a handrail next to the toilet. Now the primary  purpose of these handrails is to aid mobility and help those with difficulty to get off the toilet. The secondary purpose (and the one i find most useful) is that it helps you push a particularly difficult movement out. Much like a woman holding their husbands hand during labour, you can grasp the rail and push with all your might.

The final reason behind choosing the disabled loo is that you get an entire room to yourself and can truly relax without having to listen to the sound of someone doing an extremely squelchy dump  less than 3ft away from you.

I emerged from the toilet about 10 minutes later having made a century break on pro snooker 2015 and also making a different type of break on my ring piece . The guy behind the till who saw me going in to the toilets gave me a look that suggested he knew what I'd been doing (maybe I'm being paranoid) but I was not ashamed. I walked with a stride of pride back down to the women's wear. I felt light like I was walking on air.

And the answer to how long does it take a woman to try on a single dress? Well I wrote 90% of the above post on my phone outside a changing room.

76) February round-up

February was a flurry of activity and despite having three less days in the month February still managed to produce the same amount of poos as January and even more impressive feat considering January included the infamously horrific new years day.

Drinking on the night of January 31st meant that the 1st of the month was a double day. Additionally on the Wednesday 4th I was in charge of a big audit which would enable us to get some fancy certification. Given the sheer amount of work which still needed to be done, I admit that the first 3 days of the week I had a nervous bowel. This led to a further 3 days of double dumping and in total I scored 2, four times in a row. Things settled down following the inspection and I began to find my rhythm again, although I was a lot more inconsistent than I was in January; ideally I would like to run with the same efficiency as the German train system.

My most consistent spell came between the 13th and the 22nd where  I had one a day on all days barring the 18th where I scored a double. Since the 23rd I have alternated between ones and twos

During the month of February there was two significant milestones. The first milestone was poop number 50 which occurred on foreign soil following a weekend of drinking and excessively deep fried food in glasgow. The second occurred on the 23rd when I was able to do number 69 of the year, it is with deep regret that I was not able to constipate myself for the remainder of the year.

The average for February was 1.36 PPD (poos per day) up 1.23PPD from January. For those interested in running a sweepstake my projected total is 470.1695 for the year. I assume the 0.1695 will be when I inevitably follow through one day.



Did you know? 
Despite having three less days in the month February had the same number of poos in it as January with both months scoring 38.

Did you know? (2) 
Nobody has yet to donate money to my google developers account so that I can publish my app.

66) Newtons Third Law

When hungover, my bowels will often go through what has become known in my family as the SPL stages. It's the same phases my dad goes through before he does a race. SPl stands for solid, paste, liquid, I assume no further information is required.

I awoke Saturday morning after a heavy night out the previous night with a splitting headache, bad stomach and a horrible feeling that I'd made a massive tit out of myself in front of my workmates. After slowly getting my head around which planet I was on and why I was feeling so terrible; I got up to relieve some pressure on my stomach. This turned out to be a very hefty load and was a sure sign that I was going down the SPL route. I returned to my bed to nurse my delicate head.

A few hours later I was up and making a morning cup of tea when my parents arrived home from sainsburys and unloaded the contents of the boot into the living room. I was asked to move the shopping through to the kitchen and I foolishly agreed. As I approached the overloaded bags for life I was reminded of my overloaded bowels. I bent down to pick them up and as I lifted I was reminded of Newton's third law, "every action has an equal and opposite reaction". I let out a very loud, very moist fart and very quickly had to recall what I had learnt in my driving lessons and carry out an emergency stop. I placed the bags back down and casually strolled up to the bathroom where I carried out phase P. For those who are unsure what the paste stage is see number 5/6 on the Bristol stool chart.

My hangover disappeared by midday and in an odd turn of events my bowel movements stopped and I didn't complete the SPL sequence. Just the two for the day which is extremely impressive considering my other reactions to drinks (see new years day!) . I was well aware that that I was in the mid to late 60s in total for the year so I will be keeping an eye out for my 69th poo and when that happens I will seek to make myself constipated until 1 Jan 2016.

In other news I have finished developing a Tales From The Rim app. It's the next flappy bird, truly awesome but when I tried to upload it to google play store it turns out I need to pay £16 to activate a developer account which sucks. If anyone wants to play the game give me £16 (or a portion of that amount). 

50) Half Century

I travelled the short journey north of the border to England's garden shed, Scotland, for a weekend of hardcore banter, drink and adventure in Glasgow. We consumed a decent amount of alcohol the first night and the takeaway of choice was curry. Although the following morning I was still a 4 on the Bristol stool chart, we were all producing foul aromas due to the spicy food. In fact all 5 of the people with me would be worthy guest bloggers.  Upon re-entering the living room where we had all slept, there was an extremely noticeable, repulsive change of smell which I for one was very proud of. Never the less we opened a window to air out the room. Having smelt Glasgow central station I assumed that the smells erupting from the flat would improve the smell of the city.

As the day went on, many beers and Scottish food were piled into my stomach, the killer however came later that night when it was decided that we had to sample the famous pizza crunch (this is pizza dipped in batter and deep fried) so we ordered half a pizza crunch and a deep fried Mars bar each. I enjoyed both. The pizza was good but it didn't improve on the original concept of pizza and it also doubled my cholesterol in one portion, the Mars bar was delicious. Although tasty, finishing the pizza crunch was hard work and we all felt that we had done something terrible to our insides.

The next morning I awoke before everyone  else and decided to go for a morning movement, a combination of excessive drinking and too much stodgy, greasy food made this an interesting episode. I completed the first stage of this movement with ease however I had horrible stomach cramps and as I went to stand up I knew it wasn't over yet, I settled in and just waited for the next wave to come. Wave after wave after wave came as I sat patiently regretting my decision to leave the phone by my sleeping bag. Eventually I was finished and returned to my makeshift bed. When vomiting you go through a phase where you feel absolutely great and the world could not be a better place, this is how my stomach and ring piece felt after this ferocious event. It wasn't until I consulted my chart when I got home that I realised that this was my 50th of the year, I was pleased that the occasion was marked by a memorable episode and would be memorable, I was however disappointed that I was not able to mark this milestone with a ceremony at the time.

The toilet in this flat is one that is designed for fat people as the water is further forward than a regular toilet. This means that when a regular sized person uses it, the rear toilet wall acts as a slide for your wee jobbies, it literally becomes a log flume, however in some cases it is more of a shelf. In my case the flush took care of it with ease but I have it on good authority that my friends was a bit more of a paste than mine and took several flushes to remove from the rear wall. For once it was not me who left the bathroom resembling a bombsite.

As my weekend drew to a close I have a few points I want to relay to the Scottish people

1) frying/deepfrying is not the only way to cook things

2) I will not pay for a 5p carrier bag. I cradled my beers home like a baby and as I dropped one and watched it fall in slow motion, the lack of carrier bag was almost responsible for another bowel movement right there in the street. Thankfully the bottle bounced and remained in once piece.

3) Your supermarkets stop serving alcohol at 10pm. This resulted in me buying more beers than I needed and therefore I drank more than I needed to which inevitably contributed to my excessive wind. 

Twitter

I had nothing better to do on my day off so here is a TalesFromTheRim twitter account.

Give it a follow to receive live dump news.

https://twitter.com/Talesfromtherim

January Month End

January ended in complete contrast to how it started. Whilst new years day saw a flurry of activity and an impressive 5 wicket haul, the 31st saw me gone for a duck with a big fat zero. Although this suggests erratic and inconsistent movements, the truth was much different. After returning to work on the 4th I soon re-found my pre Christmas form and had 1 a day for 12 out of the following 14 days including 9 back to back single dump days. Over all there were 21 singles in the 31 day period the majority of which I reckon occurred between 9:30 and 11:30am. Only 3 days resulted in a zero although these were always followed by a double the following day.

My total for the month was 38, eliminating new years day as an anomaly that leaves my average at 1.1 poos per day. February has started with back to back 2s and with a drinking weekend in Glasgow on the cards (and the dreaded Scottish cuisine) it could be a high month. Expect similar figures to January despite having 3 less days in the month.

PooPourri

Came across this little gem earlier, found it hilarious. She makes pooing look sex. 

I wonder if I can get them to sponsor this blog? 

33) Address to the haggis

I've touched briefly on the Scottish and the effects of their cuisine on my bowels (I shat myself) but this entire post is dedicated to the subject and is inspired by burns night.

I've only had haggis once and that was over a decade ago, in fact burns night passes me by most years without me even realising. This year however I was treated to a nice haggis meal at my girlfriends house, it was very nice and I feel like I should have eaten haggis more often. As a side issue I don't understand  why liver, lungs and heart wrapped in stomach is an accepted dish but people turn their noses up when I order a tray of donner meat.

As I was saying the haggis was very nice, until it reached the other end that is. I developed bad wind which was worsened by the bike ride I'd been on earlier that afternoon. I spent most of the night deflating and when I awoke the next morning, the portion of my body which had been under the duvet had fermented.

I arrived at work and it soon became apparent that my 10:30 appointment was going to be moved forwards by 30-40 minutes. I touched down shortly before 10, at first it trickled and then it rained. I produced something between a type 5 and a type 6 on the Bristol stool chart. As I caught up on all things social media on my phone whilst delivering this package, I noticed a very kind gentleman had recommended my blog on his blog it's not about poo so I can't vouch for it's quality but the guy clearly has taste if he's recommending me. This evacuation was not the end of the story

I was based downstairs on this day so I was not at my usual desk however I returned frequently to get stuff from my desk and to banter hard with my usual co-workers. In fact, one such visit was intended solely for the purpose of farting in that office. I entered the room and let out a silent one before wafting a clipboard to indicate my flatulence. One lady remarked "careful you don't do what you did in that confession you made in your blog" (I knew that would come back to bite me, I just didn't expect it at work). I was however, safe, for now. As the day went on the moisture levels increased, whilst I was 99% sure I was safe there was a lingering doubt in my head that I wouldn't be. Perhaps making my confession last week has unsurfaced some suppressed anxieties?

As home time came closer the gale force winds eased off, the stomach cramps decreased and I felt like my stomach was getting back to normal. Upon arriving home shortly before 5pm I enquired about what was for tea, "haggis leftovers" came the reply. Mixed feelings. Whilst I like haggis and I like the wind, I don't like the cramps that accompany it. When tea time arrived I felt fine, the effects of the previous haggis had worn off but one hour later I was at it like a trooper again. Forget fracking just plug me in I'll power the town.

The effects of the second haggis had worn off by the time I went to bed. Much like when I go abroad it seems that my body takes a day to get used to foreign cuisine. 

31) The missing movement

I've been busy at work recently, my workload has increased and in the last two weeks I've been covering parts of two other peoples jobs so work has been quite full on. However, I have always made time for what I consider to be a god given right - my mid morning toilet break, until yesterday that is.

I started work and was powering through my to do list, a simple two minute job on the bottom floor at 9:30 was followed by me getting collared to do various different jobs and before I knew it, it was half 11 before I returned to my desk. Still yet to have a cup of tea I powered on with my work. Lunch time came and went and at 2pm it struck me "I haven't been today" and what's worse is that I didn't need too. Straight to the kitchen  for a cup of tea, it didn't work so I had two more. Nothing, I still didn't need to go and I was a little devastated that I'd missed my ritual.

Later that evening a friend suggested going for a takeaway, I was hungry so was keen to go but in the back of my mind the idea of a dodgy kebab sitting on top of an unevacuated bowel filled me with excitement. I was surely going to have an epic session come Saturday morning. I returned home about 11pm and felt a slight movement, I wasn't ready to go but it certainly felt like the factory was powering up again. This was baking nicely for the following morning.

I awoke on Saturday morning and had a leisurely breakfast, a nice strong cup of tea and I knew that in 20 minutes everything would be ready. Like clockwork I was ready to go, I let it bake for 5 more minutes before moving to the bathroom. It felt like it was going to be large so it's only natural that I recorded my pre-fight weight.

I sat down to begin to what was going to be a difficult birth. The baby must have turned at the last minute because it felt like it was coming out sideways. It was a tricky one but I soldiered on. About half way through, for the first time in my life, I became extremely jealous of anyone who had been sodomised by a black gentleman. Upon finishing I was disappointed with the result, it was a one log dump of poor length however it had a lot of girth and was extremely dense judging by the splashback when it entered the water. I did my obligatory post-faecal weighing and  was underwhelmed with the results, a measly 500g (1.1 lb). The effort put in should have yielded a much larger return.

The disappointment was quickly replaced with a sense of relief that the zero placed on my chart was a one off and that normal service was resumed.

Tales from the rim logo

Thanks to a very slow and unproductive evening, tales from the rim now has a logo courtesy of MS Paint.

It's now a brand so expect some big 6-figure merchandising deals to be announced soon.

Confessions from the tennis ball story.

I want to make a confession in today's post. This is something I have never told anyone, partly due to the embarrassment of the situation I found myself in. However, everything always comes out eventually and what better platform to do it on than this. Enjoy.

It was a pleasant spring day at the tender age of 15 and the usual Saturday routine of hanging about in town with a big group of friends was on the cards, alas only two friends showed up on this particular day. Into the local Sainsburys I went  for the usual post-lunch snack, on offer was a large packet of shortbread which I promptly bought and stuffed my face with to the point that I felt sick.

Stuck for an activity to keep us entertained for the afternoon we decided, for some unknown reason, to film a tennis ball floating along the river starting at one end of the town all the way to the other end of town. Although surprisingly fun, this activity involved a lot of running around which, on top of the vast amount of shortbread and soft drinks I had consumed, caused quite an upset in my bowels. Throughout the day my two friends complained excessively about  the foul stenches erupting from my trousers, I was in a bad state.

Towards the end of the day about 40 minutes left until our bus home, the tennis ball was rounding it's last corner before it left our wonderful town. Being a top film company we decided to get two angles of it entering the home straight so my two co-workers took up position on one side of the river and I nestled into a nice little spot on the opposite side. After a day of running around this last film position was very relaxing. Too relaxing.

Another rumble of the stomach and I let out a rancid fart. "A little moist" I thought to myself "better be careful". Still waiting for the tennis ball, I adjusted my position slightly and as I did so I had a horrible realisation that I hadn't just farted, I had fired my torpedoes in a catastrophic friendly fire incident. This was a disaster. I had followed through for the first time in my life and didn't know what to do.

I didn't let on, I got the footage I needed and shouted to my friends that there was something I'd forgotten to do and that I'd meet them at the bus stop. I squelched my way to the nearest public toilets. First and foremost I emptied myself out, banishing the rest of the demons to the porcelain prison. I cleaned my rear and my boxers up as best I could but there's only so much that dry toilet paper can do. A fierce smell still surrounded me which needed to be covered up. I had spent all my money apart from my bus fare so I couldn't go buy anything to help ease the situation. Time was ticking, my bus would leave in 5 minutes. I debated ringing my parents instead of getting on the bus but that would have opened up  a difficult conversation I was not prepared to have. My phone buzzed with a text from my friend saying that the bus would leave soon, I had to think under pressure.

I decided to make a run for the bus, en route I had a brainwave, ducked down a side street and smeared some grime from a gutter down the backside of my jeans. I made it to the bus just in time and sat down next to my friend "Christ you stink" he said, "yeah that last place I was sitting in... I sat in dog crap, I've been up at the toilets trying to wash it off." I stood up and showed him my jeans assuming that he didn't want to inspect my arse too closely. He'd bought it, a convincing cover story. I arrived home and sprinted through the living room and straight to my bedroom where the offending pants were put straight into a bin bag. The only uncharacteristic action my parents noticed was me emptying my bin. I was in the clear. All washed up, I lay down on my bed physically and emotionally exhausted. The shortbread I had consumed that day was made in Scotland and I have loathed the Scottish ever since. 

17) Rush hour

In another case of people not checking my outlook calendar, I was scheduled to be in a meeting with the CEO from 10:00 - 11:00. Despite this annoying me somewhat, I felt that I couldn't decline the meeting due to me liking to take a dump 10:30-10:45 as this could impact negatively on my already very shaky job security. Selflessly I decided that I would poo another time.

At 10am everything was feeling steady in the lower regions of my digestive system so off to the meeting I went. First things first, a cup of tea. It soon became apparent that this was a major error. By 10:15 I had finished my cup of tea and shortly after 10:20 the caffeine had started working it's magic on my bowels. Organisational quality audits aren't the most riveting meeting topics at the best of times let alone when I'm having contractions every 2 minutes and I'm severely dilated.

The meeting seemed to be drawing to a close so a toilet break was out of the question. My stomach churned once more, an air bubble appeared to drop down ' I could relieve some pressure here' I thought to myself. I immediately decided this would be a bad idea but my bowels thought otherwise and was trying to force it out, I clenched at the last moment forcing it back up but the tiniest of farts slipped out 'it's ok' I thought 'it was just a pinch, it will be unnoticeable'

Ten seconds later it was very noticeable, not particularly foul but it was obvious someone had farted. In a meeting consisting of just 2 people (one of which is me) this was awkward, I glanced desperately around hoping there was a dog I could blame it on but there wasn't and the meeting continued awkwardly. "You'll need the investors in people report as evidence for this section" she said. Investors in people?!? I don't see how any organisation which schedules meetings across my toilet break is deserving of an investors in people award, perhaps if I contact them and tell them I had to push my bowel movement back to 11:00 they might revoke the award.

As I pulled out my phone to put the date of the next meeting in my calendar I noticed my brother had text me a rather amusing description of his bowel movements. This was intended to be a humours text but was instead just a cruel reminder that I wasn't on my throne. I was reasonably certain that he was still seated and taking part in his morning ritual and this hurt me emotionally. It's not enough that he has a better job and a better car than me but he also has a much more relaxed sphincter.

Thankfully the meeting finished 15 minutes early. I entered defcon 5 and headed to the toilet at speed. I passed a colleague on the stairs who stopped to talk, thankfully I knew them well enough to be able to shout "can't stop, I'm crowning". Luck was on my side as I arrived at the toilet, the phantom seat warmer was no where to be seen. Usual procedures were bypassed, the door wasn't locked (that could wait), pants removed at speed instead of the usual leisurely fashion and my phone remained in my pocket. Within a fraction of a second of touching down I had opened fire, giving it everything I could, I had gone through an entire box of ammo in 10 seconds, it looked like there had been a massacre. With that over I sat back in what felt like a post-orgasmic state, flicked the lock on the door fought the urge to drift off to sleep. My work here was done.

  

13) Give it 5.

I was a victim of  a horrible incident in the work place today. As per any other day, I was two cups of tea down and it was 10:30, which can only mean one thing: toilet time. This is a time of day I have come to enjoy very much, a break from work to read a book, do a Sudoku or just catch up with the news on my phone.

Where I work there is a single gents cubicle and today it was occupied... at 10:30! That's my time! Do people not check my outlook calendar? This, however, is not an unusual event. The felon in question seems to be on the same cycle as me, our periods have synced. Even when I've pre-empted him and gone earlier he is there, always 5 minutes before me. However, today was a particularly urgent day. I simply couldn't afford to do some more work and check back in 20 minutes. I took cover in a meeting room, making a half arsed attempt to look busy by setting up a laptop, whilst constantly maintaining visual contact with the toilet door.

Many minutes later, with the meeting room full with a thick layer of odorous gas, the toilet was empty. I pounced. One of the greatest things about my toilet break is removing my pants and freeing my derrière from the confines of clothing into the comparatively cool, fresh air. As I place myself onto the cold, refreshing toilet seat, it ceases to exist as a toilet: it becomes a throne fit for any king. The stresses of the days work vanish, there is no world beyond the four walls of the cubicle, for a few minutes everyday the cooling sensation of the toilet seat gives me a glimpse into what heaven is like and makes me want to be a better person. Today, this simple pleasure was ruined, today the seat was warm. I was uneasy, I couldn't focus, I couldn't enjoy my daily ritual knowing that I was essentially rubbing butts with my co-worker. The toilet is my one true love and today it had been with another man, I was devastated.

Today was a get in, get out, job done, back to work day, a day where no Sudoku was solved, no news checked, no pages turned. If you, like me, have a ritual, remember to leave it 5, let the seat cool down.

5- Curing two itches - The story behind the safety shot

New years day had already seen a flurry of activity with 4 impressively violent toilet breaks before midday. The day, however, was not over yet.

Whilst walking round Bristol city centre shaking off the previous nights hangover we stopped at a Weatherspoons for afternoon tea. I faced a tricky dilemma: I quite fancied a nice real ale but was also gasping for a cup of tea. Why not have both? This idea was lauded as 'genius' and 'brilliant' by some whilst others called me a 'fucking idiot'.

The plan was a great success: two cravings had been satisfied and I felt like a cat rubbing against it's favourite scratching post. I then tried an even more genius plan of mixing the last of my beer with the last of my tea. This was delicious.  However, as I stared at the remains of the cocktail, I suddenly thought "this is curdling in my stomach", down the hatch it went.

Waiting at the bus stop with mild stomach cramps, I let out a large bum sneeze which could be smelled, even outdoors. I maintained a positive, fun, jokey exterior whilst on the inside I was battling with a horrible feeling that there was a good chance I'd shat myself. The moistness of the fart was severe. To add insult to injury I was wearing white boxers which would not cover up any blemishes or residue.

We returned to the house and I was desperate to pee, as I stood at the toilet on the verge of relieving another stomach cramp, I had flashbacks to the near miss experienced at the bus stop. Sensibly I sat down just in time. To use a snooker analogy: I played a magnificent safety shot with the white narrowly clearing the brown.  

A promising first day and a good start to the faecal year