I once had to
defecate whilst hiking down the side of
Green Gable, a rather large mountain in The Lake District, England. This involved leaving my (large) rucksake with my hiking companions, and wandering off into the misty low flying cloud, toilet roll and baby wipes in hand. Finding a handy outcropping of rock to steady myself with, I set to business, and had soon deposited a handsome sized pile of
feces. After carefully tidying myself up, I walked back to my companions and we proceeded on down the mountain.
It was only upon making camp that evening that I discovered that somehow during my
exertions I'd managed to let some shít leave a skidmark on the seat of my rather fetching combat pants, and further more, that my erstwhile hiking companions had noticed this straight away, and didn't tell me.
For fifteen fúcking miles.
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