Wee

We would be more comfortable in a bathtub, the three of us but there is nowhere else to sit. We cram ourselves around a table by the toilet door on three miniature stools. I use up some of my coppers and count out the exact money onto the bar and a big man next to me tuts loudly. I shout 'Thanks' at the bar maid over the banging rumpus who smiles back weakly. I bring over three drinks, my hands in a triangle shape as I plonk them onto the table. With some difficulty I manoeuvre my lanky legs under the table.

The juke box is barely audible over the blathering rabble. On the giant screen two men box in silence, largely ignored by the vociferous clientele. In hindsight I think we, three media students could've chosen somewhere a little less earthy. Tom and Adian talk about some book I haven't read. I say that it sounds a bit like one I have read but I get ignored. A man shoves me in the back in the back of the head with his elbow as he plays the fruit machine. I lurch forward spilling beer onto my knees. Tom drones intellectual, elongating his long words as the spiral upwards into nothingness. My eyes begin to wonder around this freak zoo of a pub.

A family sit on the table next to mine, dad is staring dead ahead, robotically pouring beer into his face. Two kids pester mum for a pound for the fruit machine. 'This is the last time' she says through painted liver lips. Her hair is like a burgundy cloud floating around her head. She continues cackling with friend hacking and wheezing through a cigarette.

Opposite us a large group of lads talk loudly and coarsely about not having to look at the mantelpiece whilst poking the fire. Sat in the middle is a bloke with a big fat head, he glances up at the telly; one of the boxers has been knocked out. He's a fan of the film Scarface. He looks at me looking at him and I quickly turn away. His stocky head is like a pillow in a polo shirt with a face drawn on it. He could easily pull someone's ears clean off their head. A stocky barrel of a man, he hates students and likes to hurt them. Oh god he's looking at me again. Let's hope he's not in an ear pulling mood tonight.

Two pints later and Tom and Adian are still trading smug observations competitively like a two only children playing tennis. I budge my chair in about half a centimetre to let a woman through to the toilet. Have you noticed, I say interrupting, that since we got here not one man has gone to the toilet? I'm meet with two blank faces. Think about, plenty of women have been past but no men, I explain. What's your point Tom asks. I dunno, I reply, I just think its weird we've been here for three hours and no men have been to the loo. I decide to leave it at that and they return back to their conversation. I look at my watch, three minutes to ten, drain my drink and stand up. Butting in again I say I'll go check it out and walk to the loo.

Walking through doors the bathroom is wonderfully cool and fresh. The muted sounds of next door remind me of lazily watching TV wrapped up in my duvet on Sundays. Its smell lovely in here I think, taking a deep breath, like a summer meadow. A large long mirror spreads across the wall above the sinks. Looking at my reflection I practice a few shadow punches and karate chops. I love it in here, I feel like dancing. Standing in the middle of the sparkling white troth I begin to pee onto the fresh ceramic. Collecting at the bottom it looks as clear as a mountain stream. I'm dead proud and feel like bragging to my mates outside.

My cheap digital watch beeps ten and there is a sudden rumble of footsteps. A crowd stampede in. Every single man in the pub must be in this very toilet at this very moment. They jostle and grunt for position with a few ogs and ugs. Four men either side of me stare ahead expressionless, my shoulders squashed upwards pinching my neck. Then with a thunderous roar powerful jets of urine blast into the troth. Piss starts flying in from all angles. Three men climb up onto the sinks and begin to piss over our heads miraculously hitting the target and nothing else. The man next to me has his hand on his hip and with pin point accuracy the man behind squirts his beam through the gap his arm is making. Like a jug of water through a colinder liquid squirts out of every small gap in the crowd. I quickly button up my trousers and turn to leave. Fighting my way through the throng I make it past two people when I hear a sudden loud collective zipping sound. The group as one turns and leaves sweeping you up and dumping you on the cold tiled floor.

Stumbling out, your friends are still in deep conversation. Did you see that? I ask See what? They reply. I sit back down, squashing my legs under the table. I honestly don't know, oh, just forget it I say checking my watch.