Tag Archives: Swimming

Where are the toilets?

17 Jul

My old primary school used to open up its outdoor swimming pool for pupils to use during the school holidays. It was simply a case of registering and then you were put on a rota which showed the days and times you were allowed to use the pool. Although the pool was always freezing cold and contained approximately 50 dead flies per square metre, I normally put my name down to use the pool as it was free. Not only this, you were allowed to bring a friend with you and the person supervising (normally parents of children at the school) didn’t give a toss what you got up to. It was not unusual to see a number of kids attempting to run the length of the pool over its cover, and inevitably nearly drowning when their legs got caught amongst the polythene as it began to sink below the surface of the water.

 When I was in year 7, I was on the pool rota during the Summer holidays. One particular day, my brother and I decided to make use of the free facilities as it was particularly warm, and we thought it would be an ideal way to cool down. Our cousin Jake was also with us, and he is the star of this story, for reasons that you will soon find out. We arrived at the pool early in the afternoon to find it pretty much empty; from memory I think that there were only a couple of other children in the pool.  We quickly got changed in the run down changing rooms; for once it wasn’t worth trying to peer through the cracks in the wall which looked directly in the girl’s changing room, as it was vacant.

 The time we spent in the pool was brief. It was rather boring to be honest and after half an hour or so we were already cold and fed up and talking about what else we could be getting up to. A decision was made to get out of the pool, get changed, and go and play some football in the park. In the changing rooms, we all wrapped our towels round our shivering bodies. The sunny weather did nothing to heat up the chilly water and so all three of us were very cold, goose-pimpled from head to toe. One thing I miss about being young was the fact that a towel would easily cover my body like a huge duvet, and I could get snug and warmed up I no time. I was enclosed in my towel and wriggling free of my swim shorts; even though we were family, there was no way that we wanted to see each other’s knobs.  I noticed Jake struggling somewhat in his corner of the changing room, with a concerned look on his face.

 “Are you alright, Jake?” I asked, “Get dressed and you’ll be warm in no time”.

 Jake just looked back at me with a blank expression on his face. He was completely naked, holding his towel out in front of him to protect his modesty. He reminded me of a matador holding up a red rag to a bull, and I smirked at the thought of my brother charging at him, sending them both crashing through the wall of the changing rooms.

 “Erm, lads…where are the…” Jake stopped momentarily and I speculated at what the next word would be. I didn’t have to wait long.


 As Jake said the word ‘toilets’, the pitch of his voice went up a few octaves.  He began pissing instantly, his frantic hands clambering to control his penis which was snaking in the air in a frenzied manner; such was the force of his release. The power and ferocity with which he was urinating meant that he couldn’t get a proper grip of his member and so instead he picked up his towel and held it in front of him, soaking up his salty spray. Still he pissed, a torrent of liquid soaking the towel that Jake held in his outstretched arms. My brother and I were pissing ourselves too, only with laughter as we watched in amazement at the amount of piss that Jake was spraying around the place; his chipolata flapping around like a fireman’s hose with no one holding the end. I swear I saw his stomach shrink inwards as his bladder emptied, and I saw all life and energy drain from Jake’s body

 Eventually he stopped and his tired, naked body stumbled backwards against the wall of the changing room before sliding down it so that he was sitting on a bench that ran all the way around the inside wall. I was struggling to breathe as I was laughing so much, and my brother was on the floor holding his sides which were aching.  Jake’s sodden towel, which he had dropped as he staggered backwards, was in a pile on the floor, and the urine that had missed the towel had formed a large damp patch on the carpet. We all looked at each other and then at the mess on the floor and exploded into laughter in synchronisation.  My brother was the first to start speaking,

 “Ha-ha-ha! You’ve pissed everywhere! HAAAAA!”

 Yes, he’d stated the obvious, but what else was there to possibly say in this situation? Jake was grinning,

 “I just couldn’t hold it in”

 “You’d need a cork to keep that in”, I retorted.

 After a good hearty laugh, we eventually managed to get ourselves dressed, being careful not to tread in the spillage. Jake had to pack his smelly towel in to a plastic bag before putting it in his rucksack. We laughed about the incident all the way home that afternoon. Never before, nor since, have a seen a piss like it.

Swim Class

7 Jul

Picture the scene; a group of 9-10 year olds, all shivering, teeth chattering as the teacher tries to encourage them to swim into the depths of the murky water and retrieve the rubber block from the crusty veruca laden pool floor. The children are pale, and try mercifully to dodge any dead insects that may happen to float past their open mouths as they come hastily to the surface for an intake of oxygen. We’ve all been there, and whether it be the horrible water we were made to swim in, the weird green water we had to stand in before entering the pool, or trying to sneak a peek through the cracks in the changing rooms to catch the opposite sex stark bollock naked, we’ve all got different memories about swim class at school.

I hated swimming – there was no pleasure to be taken from getting into freezing cold water whilst receiving orders from a miserable teacher, who wanted to be inside as much as I did. It was on about my third of fourth swim class of the year that this story happened, and it is one that I look back on with mixed emotions. On this particular day, it was raining and windy, yet we were made to go swimming anyway. The water actually felt warm for once; probably because it was so cold in the old, wooden shack that passed for a changing room. I remember feeling as if I could crimp off a poo before I entered the water, but not wanting to make my excuses to go to the toilet, I kept quiet. ‘It isn’t that strong an urge’ I thought to myself, and so I just clenched as tightly as I could as I tried to do a length of the pool in unison with half of my class mates. This is more difficult when you’re all doing backstoke, and arms and heads are colliding with one another, as well as the sides of the pool. When I finally reached the other end, the ‘slight urge’ to poo, had now become a desperate one.

I still don’t know why I didn’t ask to go to the toilet – probably the fact that everyone would know I was off to lay a brown bog trout, so I stood in the waist high water and crossed my legs, inhaling as much as I could, hoping to suck my ever-nearing poo back up into my anus. I watched as other members of the class were made to dive under the water and fetch a 10p piece, and then I felt it. Reaching around to the back of my shorts, I gently ‘cupped’ the fabric and felt the unmistakable heaviness of a fresh log. It had slipped out without warning, and I had a predicament literally on my hands. I couldn’t waddle out of the pool, with my newly acquired tail protuding proudly from the back of my shorts, so I suppose I did what any 9 year old kid would do – I pulled my shorts to the side and dangled my leg about, until my newborn dropped free. This was harder than I first thought it would be, as my swim shorts had that tight netting-like layer. I thank God that I wasn’t wearing speedos.

My plan was going well. I had released my poo, and the next step was to give it a swift kick to the side and then carry on swimming as normal, except my plan didn’t get this far. To my horror, it floated slowly, agonisingly, to the surface, spinning as it rose in the water. I turned my back on it, hoping to hide it from view. With the realisation that I was ever closer to being caught for dumping in the pool ( it was nearly my turn to dive for the 10p), I turned back to face it, and it one swift motion, scooped it out of the water and discarded it on the side of the pool, where it sat like a giant dehydrated slug until the end of the lesson. I still don’t know how I didn’t get caught, but now I make sure that I always use the toilet prior to getting in a swimming pool.

A Guide to Princes Risborough – Part III – Leisure Facilities

27 Jul

Although the pubs in Risborough are of an extremely high quality, some people would rather not spend their precious time in them. For those people, there are plenty of things they can get up to:


Risborough Springs Swim & Fitness Centre – Springs has a wide range of leisure facilities and activities that are suitable for everybody, regardless of age or ability. The 25 metre long pool is an ideal place to have a swim, as it’s filled with water. Be careful not to submerge though, as the chlorine content is extremely high and you could lose your eyesight for a few days. Small toddlers have been known to float on the surface of the pool, with the chlorine having a similar effect to the salt in the Dead Sea. One of the best times to go swimming is during the Fun Session, when the pool gets flooded with inflatable things, balls and more often than not, floats of the fecal kind.  Hundreds of children gather to clamber over a giant inflatable dragon, all jostling to get the prize position  of sitting on the dragon’s head, but often results in split lips, smashed foreheads and lost teeth. The swim theme carries on through in the changing rooms, which often have more water in them than the baby pool does. Perverts would love these changing facilities as each cubicle has a large gap at the bottom of it, big enough to fit a grown man’s head under.


The gym is kitted out with all the things you’d expect; running machine, rowing machine, sweaty men in tiny shorts and a TV. One thing that Springs hopes will make it stand out over other gyms, is that it boasts an energy snack bar vending machine – Crazy!! Whilst working out, customers can peer out of the large windows and watch the comings and goings in the car park, or watch youngsters getting themselves high on drugs in the park.


The parking facilities are excellent; Springs can fit 6 cars at any one time (including staff). My advice here is to leave your car in the graveyard next to the centre, and walk round. I shouldn’t negate to mention the viewing area which offers a great view to the Kids Pool and nothing else really.

Risborough Springs

A packed Risborough Springs stands eerily against the quaint Risborough sky


King George Playing Field – Backing onto the police station, the playing field boasts swings, a roundabout, a few other pointless amenities and a skate ramp. This field is ideal for underage drinking (plenty of bushes to hide behind) or for practicing your graffiti skills. The skate ramp is rarely used, although it did have a few visitors on its first day after being built, and I would advise anyone hoping to come and use it to prepare themselves to be underwhelmed as it is only 2 foot high, by 3 foot long.

 Princes Risborough Park

There was no images of the recreation field on the internet, so have a picture of an old man smashing the shit out of some drums


Tesco – Yes, I know Tesco is a supermarket, but many Risborough residents use it as a place to meet and greet each other. I for one, love to watch the staff go about their daily duties, stacking shelves and serving customers with faces contorted with frustration. It should be said though that care in the community in the town is clear to see, with most Tesco employees getting jobs despite having an IQ under 22. Sometimes, words cannot do this place justice, so have a few pictures instead:

 karma, karma, karma chamealeon

 One member of staff who is very useful at spotting shoplifters. He has eyes on the back of his head. And the sides.

 Quiffy Happy Jolly Twonk

The only wig manufactured from pubic hair in existence belongs to a Risborough Tesco employee.

Pink Eye

Winner of best looking employee 2009


That’s about it in terms of leisure facilities I’m afraid. It’s probably the reason as to why most locals choose to go to the pubs, as the three places mentioned above get so busy due to their popularity. If you’re planning on visiting one, make sure you get there early to avoid disappointment.

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