Somewhere near the worst, Memory jog:- on the LST Sir Galahad, 1974, heading south through the bay of Biscay in a force 9 storm, everyone puking up, the mess decks a heaving mass of puking squaddies, the bogs overflowing, as the ship lurched up and down, and from side to side, a corkscrew effect, the bogs awash with puke and piss, sloping from side to side, the stench was horrific, the air thick and chocking, and the constant noise of blokes continually puking up, this lasted for about 7 hours. Have a guess who had to clean up the horrid mess? yup, we did.
The type 22 frigates had a temperamental bog system- due to how the sewerage was processed. In 1995 was alongside the Sheffield where we carried out joint Xmas duties. A loud rumbling noise was heard from the Sheffield then a “Wooof” noise. An on watch stoker was then seen legging it along the upperdeck absolutely covered in shite. Something had gone wrong in the sewerage treatment plant and some relief valve had vented. Was told it was a common problem on the Sheffield, and if you heard that rumbling noise you had only a few seconds to gtf off the upperdeck.
#In the RN it was (possibly still is) correct etiquette , if you curled down a particularly magnificent cable, to wipe your arse and flush the paper down the next trap, thus not depriving someone else the opportunity to behold the specimen in the unflushed bog.
British rail bogs in the 1980's were biohazards , I remember getting the 30 seconds warning from my bomb bay while waiting for a train at London Bridge , after an inspection of the gentleman's facilities I chose shitting myself as the best option.
Best Khazi.... The one at home. Don't matter how plush the others are. You've been away camping or in a hotel, you get home, drop your kecks, sit on your own dunny and RELAX!
Worst, from some of the tales on here, had me in stitches! Can't come close to most of them, but my favourite story involved a Scots mate of mine.
We were on a two week Motorcycling holiday, second day in France just south of Nancey on the motorway after a heavy night on the ale. My mate indicates he needs a dump, so we pull into the first of those rest areas with toilets. Kenny jumps off his bike, legs it into Khazi, but within 10 seconds comes flying out screaming at the top of his Glaswegean accent "l'm na fooking havin' a shiet in tha' doomp". Yup squatter covered in crap.