Right, LairdX seems to amuse himself adequately with Pokemon, but calls have been made for a good old yarn about bum gravy, here's mine: As a kid, I did Ten Tors on the beautiful land of Dartmoor, run by 43 Wessex. The event consisted of two days of blisters, bogs and fricking grassy b*llocks. 35, 45 or 55 miles, age depending. In training for the 45 event, I started getting the inevitable first spasms of lightning shock indicating the presense of a very boisterous and active turtle some way inside my virging hoop. (Long may it's one-way traffic system be preserved.) Said turtle poked a particularly raw nerve and sent a rigid leg into muscular shock. Clenching my strained and weakened dam against the reservoir of Biscuit fruits and Chicken stew with "herb" dumplings, I stumbled on. The day was wearing thin and the sun lay low bleeding into the sky, we were all utterly exhausted. The pain subsided, and normal walking resumed. I then made the beginner's mistake of slightly relaxing my sphincter. This proved to be fatal. A sudden internal shift of bowel content threw both legs to attention and I lost control of my lower limbs. My legs stumbled into the bane of that land - "babies heads". I felt the proceeding action in Hollywood-style slow-motion. I lost my upright position, normally perpendicular to the ground and tumbled, like a felled tree to the boggy floor. The force of impact wrenched my internal passage and my overloaded hoop gave up its defense. With a hot, wet spurt, chocolate sauce poured like a lava flow into my bulging boxers. Desperately my starfish mounted one last stand, but heroically failed as the bubbling mixture came out, undigested "bacon" and all... Cue much swearing. The Gods, deciding to have fun, had conspired to make the weather a temperate just-above-freezing, as I ditched the decorated shreddies in the East Dart River. Worse came later as I was forced to physically submerge my rump in ice cold water flow as bits of finest bisto flaked off and headed downstream to pollute the waters of Tavistock. My five team-mates, ever-helpful, rolled around as gibbering wrecks, laughing the deep belly-laugh of he who sees poo and is satisfied it contacts him not. They then had the cheek to "assist" in the washing process! Gentlemen, the floor is open, we need more poo!