When I was about six, I was on my second holiday abroad. We went with three families. The other kids on the trip were a lot older than me -- I was the youngest. While walking around the hotel with them during the day, I tried to be funny as I thought I was about to do a big fart.

Now, on holiday, as I have since learned, you never NEVER gamble when you need a fart; but in my young innocence I showed off by reciting the little rhyme that goes with a fart. Something along the lines of:

"Are you ready for this?
Listen to this?
Do Dodiludo Do Do --" *fart*

Now to my surprise, there was no fart, and I hadn't just sat in shepherds pie. In confusion I looked down at my shorts; and then it hit me. Being only six, I ran into the hotel bar where my mum was, screaming, "MUM!!!" They were all concerned when I arrived, scared I had hurt myself, until I shouted out, "I've pooed myself!!!" Laughter surrounded the bar and I was taken back to the room to clean up.

My mum tried to clean my underwear but they had to be retired, abandoned in Majorca.

More recently I went to Cyprus on a holiday. This time it was with only one other family aside from my own. While we were there, a stomach bug was being passed about, and of course some of the traveling party received this. The father of the other family got it the worst; when we visited the main city, "coffee stop" after "coffee stop" had to be made for him to destroy toilet after toilet.

When he returned, covered in sweat, he would give us a description of the state of the toilet before and after he used it. Of course, as with all holidays, Mr. Imodium was present -- but even he could not fight this stomach bug.

Anyway, I of course caught this bug, but not to the same standard as the other family's father. We were on our way to a bar when I got the sudden stir and the agonizing pain in my gut. The hotel was only about three hundred yards away, so I decided that I would use my own toilet rather than that of a bar. So off I set walking. After realizing that walking would take too long, I decided to run. Still not enough -- I knew would probably shit myself before making it.

This is where I discovered the Straight Leg Run. The Straight Leg Run allows you to get to the toilet quicker with less risk of shitting yourself compared to a normal run. Due to the lack of bend in your legs, you can still keep your arsecheeks firmly clenched. You do look like a tosser doing it, but not as much as if you had shit down you leg.

With legs straight and gut in knots, I made it to the hotel. I went to reception. No one there. I pressed the bell over and over; still no one. I made my way to the bar: a huge queue. I wait patiently with my guts making the weirdest noises until I finally get served. I got my key and headed to the lift -- we were on a high floor, and stairs would destroy my straight leg technique.

But the lift refused to come, so I headed up the stairs, groaning in agony. I finally made it to my room, and my arse muscles started to relax in relief.

Whoever has stayed in a hotel abroad can relate here when I say that the keycard NEVER works. It takes about fifteen attempts before the damn door opens. As the door refused my card, I started to panic and clenched up my cheeks again.

Eventually the door opened. I threw my shirt on the bed -- dunno why, I just never shit with a top on -- and just made it, the shit commencing just before my arse touched the seat. Bog door wide open, of course.

Now the thing with this hotel is that across from the toilet and next to the toilet are full-length mirrors. So as your shit destroys your insides and rips your ringpiece into pieces and sweat pours from your face, you can see every facial expression you are making.

That shit must have been the most satisfying of shits EVER. I felt as light as a feather walking back to the bar.