Toms on a roll now!

16th September 2006 ‘The Mill’ Just off the A38 by the Stroud turnoff the M5

TGGW had returned from holiday the previous week but had not been in touch with the ISCDC because he had had the shits all week. It had been awful, so bad in fact that he had been to the doctor who had told him to fetch in a sample and given him a small bottle with a miniature shovel. She, the doctor, had explained that the best way to collect the horrible gooey mess coming out of his body was to defacate onto a piece of clingfilm stretched over his toilet seat. TGGW did not think this was a good idea because of the risk of the poo spilling over the clingfilm. He already got plenty of agro from the CF for supposedly spilling his pee on the toilet seat. TGGW was sure that it was not him who spilled the pee because he was always very careful but there was no arguing with the CF on this matter. Needless to say since TGGW had been to see the doctor he had not had a single poo. It was now Saturday and TGGW having gone 24hrs without a poo decided he would go and watch the Rugby. He rang up transport manager Mr Lewis only to discover that the ISCDC had left without him because they had not heard from him for 2 weeks and assumed he was still on holiday. Mrs Lewis, however, knew where the ISCDC had gone for lunch and she kindly informed TGGW of the venue. Luckily it was the Mill next to the Stroud motorway exit … luckily because this was one the very few pubs in Gloucestershire that TGGW knew how to get to … it wasn’t hard. Mrs Lewis reckoned the ISCDC had left half an hour ago en route to Gordon League so TGGW decided he would try and catch them up. Even if he missed them at the Mill, Gordon League was one of the very very few Gloucestershire Rugby Clubs that he might have a chance of finding on his tod.

TGGW set off in pursuit and immediately began to feel poorly again. He had had a slice of toast that morning. This had been the first food to pass his lips for 6 days and it was having a worrying effect on his digestive system. The Mill was a half hours drive away, TGGW reached it without mishap and began to think that maybe he was on the way to recovery.

The ISCDC were sat, eating, in the glass walled bit of the pub. It had a glass roof as well … what do you call them … not a patio, aretrium? orangery? No … anyway, whatever it was called it stank of food and TGGW felt very ill indeed. Nevertheless he girded his loins and went to join the ISCDC members. They had all partaken of the carvery and were about half way through there beef / pork / lamb. You have never seen such a disgusting mess of food. Mr Pinder’s was the worst because he had maxed out on the gravy but all three plates supported soggy hillocks of mashed potato, surrounded with half eaten brussel sprouts and swimming in fat speckled gravy. Mr Bignal had even smeared Horseradish sauce over parts of his meal. TGGW sat down with the ISCDC but averted his eyes so that he was looking out through one of the glass walls. He also attempted to breathe only through his mouth so that the waves of nausea sweeping over him would not result in an actual vomiting session.

The ISCDC members wanted to know where TGGW had been and why was he late and why did he look so much thinner. TGGW told them and described in some detail the horrible week that had just passed. How he had spent like 22 hours one day on the toilet and how, although, he had not eaten for days, the poo just kept coming and coming. And the poo itself …. ughh it had been revolting and had at one stage turned BLACK! Most of the time however, it had been light brown but with large speckles of an even lighter brown in it. The consistency too had varied during the week … generally the poo had got thinner as the week went on until it became, by Friday, almost gaseous. TGGW had got through six toilet rolls and his arse felt like it was on fire all the time. TGGW was simultaneously interrupted by all the other members of the ISCDC who said they would prefer it if TGGW did not tell them about his pooing until they had finished their lunch. Actually come to think of it, they said, it would be better if he never told them about his pooing … they definitely did not want to know. TGGW refused an offer of a drink and went off to sit on the bog for a while … he didn’t want a poo but over the past week he had come to see it as his natural habitat and he was missing it a bit.

The ISCDC members, bar TGGW, voted the meal a big success and they all gave it 8/10. TGGW thought they were mad and wondered how they could feed their bellies with such revolting an excuse for food. TGGW felt sick again and went outside.

The rest of the ISCDC paid their bill and joined TGGW leaning over the bridge and looking in the river that flowed prettily past the Mill. Mr Pinder suggested they have a game of Poo Sticks. TGGW thought that Mr Pinder was taking the piss (or the poo) but apparently Poo Sticks is a Bristolian name for the childish game where you drop sticks in the river on one side of a bridge than run across to the other side to see who’s sticks get there first. For some reason TGGW’s sticks never emerged but he couldn’t say he was too bothered. Mr Pinder won the game but by mutual agreement nobody coughed up with the dosh that had been bet on the game.

TGGW left his car at the Mill and travelled the rest of the way in Mr Lewis’s big and comfortable Mondeo. There was a hold up whilst they waited for the drawbridge (close to Gordon League) whilst a boat chugged down the canal but it was not long before they were walking into the Gordon League clubhouse. Bugger me … there was more food … Gordon League had laid on a big spread and the ISCDC (minus one) were soon gathered round it likes bees round the honey pot. TGGW went for a walk outside with the sight of Mr Lewis, holding a heaped plateful of egg rolls in one hand and a pint of Bugger Bottom in the other, rapidly receding in his rear view mirror.

Thornbury lost the game, there was even more food in the clubhouse afterwards and TGGW started to shit for Britain again when he got home.