The cat that crept into our crypt.

Something jaw droppingly terrible happened here a couple of weeks ago.

Not that someone died or was struck down with a terminal illness,nothing like that,but on a scale of possible traumatic experiences it rates right up there.

I've been struggling with whether to blog it or not.You see if I write about it then Ill be acknowledging that it actually happened,and if it did happen then there's the possibility of it happening again.
Which is a scenario that I cant contemplate having to deal with.

Last night I had nightmares about it.Perhaps this could be partially attributable to  the hearty late night snack which I consumed consisting of Chevington cheese and Barry Normans Pickled onions (to which I am a recent convert,BTW you might just want to click on that link if only to appreciate the web address),but nonetheless its made me think its time I confronted my demons.

So here it is.
A couple of weeks ago half way through a service notable mainly through its uneventfulness,one of our waitresses burst into the kitchen,with a face like death.


Self: What's wrong?
Ashen face:There's something on the floor in the ladies loos.
Self:What d'you mean?What is it?
Ashen face:I'm not sure... someone's put some loo roll over the top of it..(pained expression)...but there's a trail of brown smears going out of the door...
Self:What???? Someone has shat on the floor????

It was patently apparent that Ashen Face was not strong enough of constitution to tackle this particular problem.Obviously myself and Chef could in no way emerge from the kitchen in our whites prepared for a cleaning job as dastardly as this one.I mean,you're hardly going to be chomping at the bit to wolf down your Sausage and Mash after you've just seen the Chef exiting the loo wearing his best winning smile whilst armed with mop bucket,bleach and a plunger. 
There is a God, we were ruled out.

We needed to buy some time.I instructed Ashen face to place a chair in front of the ladies loos with a blackboard(have I mentioned before,blackboards are the publicans best friend?) bearing the instruction:

NO ENTRY ESSENTIAL CLEANING IN PROGRESS

Ashen face: But what shall I say if someone asks to use the loo?

Chef: You'll just have to bleeping tell them someone's crapped on the floor...
No point in beating around the bush..(no pun intended)


For some reason a charming little ditty which my Dad would occasionally recite to his three daughters in enviably enunciated tones sprang to mind.
It always raised a snigger despite the number of times we heard it.Probably because it was done on the strict QT:


'The cat crept into the crypt,crapped, then crept out again.' 


I kept repeating it in my head,it was giving me something to focus on,rather than the excruciatingly impolite deposit on the bathroom floor.


At this point the situation was exacerbated as Sod invoked his omnipresent Law with impressive accuracy, effecting the farmer next door to commence immediate and sustained muck spreading on the field directly opposite the pub.As the heinous smell filtered into the pub the two betweeded ladies sat next to the fire visibly wretched,nostrils curled and enquired of Ashen face in hushed tones- Is that smell coming from(pointing tentatively)... your toilet?...Shocked faces.

The most probable candidate for the clean up job was an individual whom we knew was of particularly stern farming stock and innately unsqueamish. We targeted her first.Lets be honest,this nature of task doesn't exactly fall into your average bar person's job description.We shamelessly bribed her to do our dirty work.After brief negotiations we succeeded.
Kitted out with blue disposable gloves,my old faithful Hunter wellies (which I've since  replaced)and copious amount of bleach, the clean up was effected quickly and with military precision.

But how on earth can someone actually miss the pot, I hear you say.Some may be wondering what sort of a debauched place we are operating here.Well,believe me if something like this can happen here then it can happen anywhere.
Oddly, there is a minority section of the public who seem to have a completely different set  of personal etiquette standards once they leave the comfort of their own homes.
In the absence of any unsupervised young children,I'm drawn to conclude that the most likely perpetrator of the dirty deed would have to be some old dear unfortunately getting her incontinence knickers in a twist.

But why wouldn't they say what had happened?? said Ashen face(fighting back tears)

Chef: (Raised eyebrows) Oh, we enjoyed our lunch today very much..by the way I've crapped on the floor in your loo....(snort..) Hardly likely...


So that's it.Its out there.


So what if it happens again and The Unsqueamish One isn't at hand??

THAT IS MY WORST NIGHTMARE.

And the going rate for a clean up job such as this??
Forty quid and and a bottle of Pinot Grigio...and worth every penny...