OK, confession time. It was me. not always, but more than once....It always seemed to be the same few people who regularly shat themselves. It was almost as if they had a reputation to live up to.
First time, primary school - lovely summers day, sports lesson was cricket. My first time playing cricket, lots of standing around waiting to not catch a ball (we were seven years old yet the PE Commandant insisted we use a proper cricket ball 'to get the feel for the pain' - yes, I still remember those words), anyway, after what felt like hours of getting heatstroke, it was my turn to bat - think the bowler would be another seven year old? oh no, it was the PE Commandant himself.... ball lands precisely at the foot of my (full sized) bat, which I try to block, the ball somehow ran up the bat - which I was looking down, and hit me square on the nose, creating (according to reports) a starburst of claret which knocked me backwards with the shock, I demolised my own stumps and was called as out by the victorious bowler. Slight problem, I appeared to have had a brown starburst in my shorts as well - the evidence was not just in my shorts but also a bit of a brown shadow on the crease.... Cricket practice was declared over and I was left to get myself to the changing rooms and then to the school nurse to deal with my (now encrusted and dried) nosebleed.
Second time - cross country in secondary school. The course was over the low moors at the back of the school, some of it was on farm tracks, most of it was over (not through) farm gates, stiles and walls, across fields and, dependent upon the weather, through marshland and sucking mud. It wasn't uncommon for the fields to have livestock in them - usually just sheep, a few dairy cattle and occasionally pigs. One occasion there was an unusually large number of dairy cattle in one of the fields - as usual, I was near the front of the pack, not because I was any good, more that the 'fodder' were sent ahead to find out which fields were safe to cross so the cool kids could avoid death, loss of limbs or being forever lost to the pigs digestion system. Anyway, into the field of cows I went, halfway across I became aware of the cows moving out of my way a bit sharpish - very sharpish, a quick glance over my shoulder saw a very big, black
Third & final time - secondary school and 'sports' again. Enforced football, as usual I was one of the last to be 'chosen' for a team. The usual misery of fruitlessly chasing the ball around interspersed with standing still in the sleet waiting for something to happen was interrupted by a gurgling stomach and an increasing pain in the lower bowel. The sports Commandant was having none of my request to go to the loo and seemed not to notice my stomach cramps or inability to move at anything above an awkward walking pace. At the end of the torture, I beat all the sportists back to the changing rooms and headed straight for the single cubicle - which was locked... some bastard was already in there! So I paced around, not daring to try & get changed or bend over, I was already walking like a penguin. Then it happened - one of the sportists kicked a football, which bounced off a wall and hit me square on the back of the head, in turn, releasing the now uncontainable river of brown that Willy Wonka would have been proud of.... All I could do was stand there as the liquid filled my boots and the soft lumps slowly decended down my legs, the kid in the cubicle came out to the absolute silence - apart from the bubbling out of my @rse, stared, then did an about turn to puke his ring up, apparently he wasn't the only one. I was sent home in a taxi wrapped in bin bags.