“Oh, no. Not again. Why does this keep happening in my toilet?”

The toilet was given a deep clean

The weekend just gone saw the return of Premiership football, meaning those city pubs with tellies filled once again with people saying things like “looks like he’s lost a yard of pace”.

But for one unhappy pub manager predictably dull football chit-chat was the last of his problems.

As he surveyed the gents’ toilet of his Canterbury pub, which I’ve chosen not to name, he could not help but emit an exasperated:¬†“Oh, no. Not again. Why does this keep happening in my toilet?”

An elderly man had been seen making his way hastily to the loo before emerging sheepishly with his jumper now tied round his waist.

The cubicle was later found to have a newly pebble-dashed interior, forcing staff to give it a deep clean.

The episode reminded me of an incident which happened in Oaten Hill’s Old City Bar in the early 2000s.

Shamsi Kabbara was running the joint and like her predecessor Alan Russell was not well disposed to errant pub drunks.

On a Saturday afternoon, I popped into the pub and after a while made a visit to the toilet to find a pair of soiled underpants in a carrier bag nailed to the outer door.

They were accompanied by a furious handwritten message inviting the garment’s owner to reclaim them.

A few years later I was enjoying a pint in the Blind Dog in Rosemary Lane (now Limes), the pub that Alan converted into the best in the city in the noughties.

Chatting to a builder friend of mine, I recalled the Old City Bar incident. As I did so, his eyes narrowed, he fixed his gaze on some spot in the distance before uttering the inevitable words: “That was me, that…”


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