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.
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