Once when very young I was taken out for a bit of drinkees with the troop. In my drunken haze, after much cider embibed, I headed for the door marked toilets went up stairs and took a dump. On returning to the bar I was asked by a staffy who was there where I had been? To the toilet I replied. The aforementioned staffy then pointed out that the brass plate on the door that I had gone through was marked "private" not "gents" or "toilets" as I had believed. I had gone through this door, finding a front door, with yale lock and snooker cues propped against the wall and a pig hair mat. On reaching the top of the steep stairs to my right I had found a corridor and a toilet. First door on the right. Where I had unloaded blissfully ignorant of the fact that your average pub bog does not contain the following... A bath. A shower. Only one bog, not enclosed by a cubicle. Pretty decorations, shampoo and other products. A plush sink. It transpired that I may have sh*t on the landlords own throne!!! Any other stories?