I will not pee..I will not pee.
The old saying goes ‘a change is as good as a rest’ or in my case, more accurately, ‘a change is as good as a rest, IF the change involves NOT driving three kids for two hours, every single day for a five day school holiday programme.’ Yes, this school holidays all of my singing dancing ‘Ethel Mermen clone’ children decided to a sign up for a ‘lets put a show on right here in the barn’ kind of gig. It seemed sensible to book some holiday accommodation near to Golden bay… ok, so maybe not exactly in golden bay..a little further down in Mandurah..little Venice..land of bingo…and road do-nuts. But because I am a major procrastinator, I of course left it too late to book. I ended up with the last cabin on the block, the one with no en-suite bathroom… in fact the one with no toilet. The one situated ‘adjacent to the ablution block’. ‘Adjacent to’ turns out actually to be a little bit further than I anticipated.
So, the ablution journey begins.
I should point out that the ablution block is a thing of beauty. It is the cleanest, shiniest block for ablutioning I have ever seen. The place is a veritable palace. It is SO shiny I am in danger of fracturing both hips by falling arse over tit on its ice rink like surface. These days I move about as slowly and irascibly as Dr House without his Vicodin. There are two weeks before I get joint surgery and a quick jog over to the ablution block at 3.00am in the dark is akin to crossing the mountains of Mordor. I am not unfamiliar with camping, that is I once met someone with a pop top, so know how this works. I decide the sensible way to go would be a bucket.
Give me your bucket kid and no one gets hurt.
This seems reasonable to me. A quick tinkle at midnight, inoffensively tipped down the outside drain, seems like the answer, what could possibly go wrong. It appears I have arrived in the middle of some inexplicable oyster gathering season, either that or a tsunami warning has, unbeknown to me been issued for the lower canal region of Mandurah, sending every nobby panic buying buckets to bail out their villas, because I cannot find a single one, anywhere. So instead I decide to purchase a pedal bin, It’s a little pricier than a bucket, but to be honest I am thinking the extra height and more generous dimensions might be better suited to the width of my bum. I am sensible enough to remove the swinging lid and I feel good to go, as it were.
Dunny to go
I do need to pee in the night, Its one of those cosy saved up pee’s, where your too comfy to get up, or you happen to be in the middle something interesting. Your bladder gives you a gentle nudge, to which you respond ‘yes, duly noted’, you have another 30 mins to finish that chapter,episode,facebook lol, before it gives you another more insistent poke.In fairness, I might have moved sooner if the wifi was not so dreadful, but after my seventh attempt to answer an email, I became so bloody minded that I was not going until I heard the ping that it was delivered. Once I got the tinkle …then I had to tinkle.. badly. I had left the bin discreetly by the back door as far away from the actual bin as possible,(Ha, not getting caught out by that school boy error.) So I had to scramble, with both sticks, around the table and chairs and then hover, in a quad defying display of muscle dexterity not seen since my circuit training days.
Yeah, one more minute
Here’s the thing. There are reasons people pee in buckets, If you choose to pee in a swing bin, you have to consider what I call ‘the drop factor.’ To coin a phrase, ‘You canna deny the laws of physics.’ The golden shower is going to hit the bottom of that baby like Niagra falls. The sheer velocity of liquid, being expelled with urgency, hits the plastic with the same force that 16 military drummers performing at the Edinburgh tattoo might generate. Within seconds the two children in the bunk beds are awake.
“Nothing to see here! Nothing to See!”
‘What happened Mum? are you ok Mum?’ I’m still peeing, because I have left it so long I cannot stop peeing, My children are watching me peeing in a swing bin with genuine interest. ‘I’m peeing in a bin, nothing to worry about’ I cheerfully announce. ‘Go back to sleep’, as if they could. They cannot go back to sleep or even unsee the event the next day. ‘My mum peed in the bin’ small but fierce flatly announces to the waitress at Dome the following morning. I am wondering how many of the fifty children on the musical theatre bootcamp will be informed of this at morning tea. I think there must be a gadget more suited to inconvenient peeing situations, marathon runners for example. I google ‘marathon runners and urination’, it is more info than I need. I do find a nifty little gadget online designed to funnel your pee away,
Just what every girl needs, a tiny, plastic, weeny-peeny…NOT
Lets be honest, it looks just a rubber penis..for girls, and not even in a good way. It’s 2017 by now we could, and should have something a little more girly. I know a fur cuff or feathers might be impractical, but surely a bit of bling wouldn’t do any harm, or perhaps an amusing design, say in the shape of something a little more fun..an elephant maybe, with a nice little trunk nozzle. I think its an untapped market, perhaps I should start a Kickstarter page