THE SCATMAN

There was a grubby, smelly brick building in WC12 and it was there that Walter witnessed a miracle.
It was the day that Walter met Gerald.
Walter was searching for the right words to say. Eventually he found them. 
"Why do you live in this toilet?" he asked, almost coyly.
Gerald sighed. "Because I'm a poo," he pointed out, patiently.
Walter thought about this for a moment, then conceded that it was a fair point. Gerald was, indeed, a poo.
Now, this might sound a little bit far fetched. But bear in mind that, what most of us might think of as ridiculous, Walter took in his stride. For Walter was a lavatory attendant by trade, and lavatory attendants witness things almost every day of the week which most of us simply would not believe unless we saw them with our own eyes.
Be that as it may, what happened next surprised even Walter.
For moments later, before Walter's very eyes, Gerald the poo metamorphosised into a handsome prince.
"Er...what just happened?" asked Walter, his mind reeling. He really did pinch himself to make sure this was not a dream.
"Got you there, didn't I!" The prince looked exceptionally pleased with himself as he clambered out of the toilet in trap three. He straightened his clothes, smiled at Walter, then leaned in close and whispered conspiratorially, "It's a little known fact outside poo circles, but to the seventh stool born in every seventh generation do the elements bequeath special powers. The seventh dung of a seventh dung can use those powers to take whatever form he chooses." Gerald winked at Walter as he pushed past him. "And I am that seventh stool."
Walter checked that the window was open, and that he had not just been using too much cleaning fluid in a badly ventilated room again. Amazingly, he had not.
He turned to look at the prince, who was busy washing his hands. 
Talking to a poo is one thing, but a poo that can turn into a handsome prince? That really is utterly preposterous. Isn't it? Walter could not deny the evidence before his eyes...
"So...you're a bit like a caterpillar turning into a butterfly?" Walter asked conversationally, leaning on his mop.
"Only much rarer!" Gerald responded, admiring himself in a mirror.
"Fantastic," declared Walter, to himself more than to the prince. He took a step closer to Gerald, wanting to make sure his eyes were not deceiving him. Then he caught a whiff of something nasty and pulled a face. "Ew! If only you could do something about that stench, you could pass for a real prince!"
"What do you mean, 'could'?" said Gerald, turning to face Walter. "I tell you now, I am a real prince and tonight I shall dine with the queen of the rabbits!"
Walter's eyes widened in amazement. "There's a queen of the rabbits?" He was struggling to take this all in.
"Well, of course there is," replied the prince. "Where have you been hiding, Walter?"
Walter shrugged. "I clean toilets," he mumbled and took a step towards cubicle three, the one from which Gerald had emerged.
"Indeed. Well, much as I'd like to stay and chat a bit longer, there are things I must do," said Gerald airily. "Time waits for no man," he added, as he began to head towards the door. But as he did so, he glanced back, only to see Walter disappear into trap three...
Gerald realised in an instant what Walter was about to do - flush the toilet in which he had been birthed! 
"NO!" yelled Gerald, throwing himself with all his might in Walter's direction.
But it was too late.
Walter flushed the toilet.
And as Walter flushed the toilet, Gerald's life was flushed away.
One moment Gerald was there, throwing himself across the room, the next moment the only evidence that he had ever existed was a suspicious looking pool of liquid on the floor.
"What have I done?" Walter tried to hold back the tears welling up in his eyes as he stood there on the threshold of trap three, staring at all that was left of the handsome prince. He stood there, unmoving, for a long, long time. 
Only minutes before, Walter had witnessed a miracle. But already he had undone it.  Foolishly, without thinking, in the blink of an eye. 
Walter felt a great sense of confusion and of loss. The world seemed distant that morning. The public convenience in WC12 remained unusually silent, except of course for when David Robinson came in and spent ten noisy minutes relieving himself in trap one, in that way that David Robinson does.
It seemed like a long time before Walter began to connect once more with the world around him. In truth, it was but moments after Robinson exited the building and the after effects had pummelled the lavatory attendant's senses until he could remain still no longer. Walter blinked, picked up his bucket and mop and slowly, laboriously, began to clean. Nevertheless, he could not bring himself to clean up that puddle in the middle of the floor - that would seem wrong, somehow.
So, if you ever find yourself caught short when you're out and about, and you visit a public convenience where there's a dejected looking attendant who says "mind the puddle, mate", you might just want to do what he says.
And if you venture into a cubicle where there's a special looking floater, it might be prudent not to flush. Just back out slowly and use trap 2 instead.*


*if you choose to use trap 1, then be it on your own head - I'm not going to condone the use of any toilet where Robinson has left his mark.

SLEEPING BEAUTY?

The handsome prince stood on the threshold of the room in which the princess slept.  He adjusted his attire and approached the sleeping form with the decorum such an occasion warranted.  All he needed to do now was kiss the princess and she would awake from her 100 year slumber.

The prince frowned as he studied the sleeping woman.  Not what he had expected, to be sure.  Still, he inclined his head towards her face, made as if to kiss her...then doubled over in revulsion as he began to gag.

“Chuffin’ Nora, what a whiff!  Surely they can’t expect me to snog that?  Look at that beard, it’s longer than Gandalf’s!  She looks like a dude - in fact, how do I know that ‘she’ is actually a ‘she’ under all that hair?  Smell that breath, 100 years without tooth paste or breath freshener...come on people, I’m a prince, I have standards!  I can’t be expected to live happily ever after with something that snores like a hog.  Stone me - those wazz bags, talk about needing an uplift...and those fingernails – she should be in the Guinness Book of Records.  They’re not wrong when they say that ears and noses never stop growing, she looks like a womble!  I need to talk to my union representative, there’s no way I’m puckering up for that.  Goodness knows what it looks like in the buff...”