When I was a child I lived in a tiny two bedroomed cottage on the edge of a small town in Lancashire. It had a lovely garden and I was very happy there. Because of the cramped conditions, my brother Godfrey and I had to share a bedroom.
I distinctly remember one night, lying in bed, when I was about four years old. Godfrey was already sleeping in his little bed just a few yards away. Downstairs I could hear my mother in the kitchen ironing the clothes. Every time the iron went down, the table she was using made a squeaking sound. The radio was on and she was obviously listening to a play, that she really enjoyed on the BBC Home Service. I found these sounds very comforting as I lay in bed, but that night I was restless and did not sleep. Too bad I needed to poo!
The toilet was downstairs and to get there I had to pass the kitchen. I would be disturbing my mother if I went down and it did seem a long way to go.
There was a potty under the bed but we were only supposed to wee in it. I got out of bed and before I could help myself, I'd done a large poo in it!
"Now what shall I do?" I pondered.
Suddenly, inspired by an idea, I rolled it into a ball using a page from an old magazine.
There was a window on the landing that opened outward, overlooking the lovely back garden and directly below the window, was the sloping kitchen roof.
"If I roll it down the roof it will land in the garden and no one will know it was me," I thought.
The plan seemed to work very well until the ball of poo got stuck on the roof only an arm's length away.
"Now that would be noticed," I thought, "Better get it back!"
It never occurred to me just how dangerous this was becoming. I now had to really stretch to get it. At last it was in my not so clean hands!
I decided to put it back in the pot and say nothing and with this resolved, I got into bed and fell asleep.
Funnily enough, nothing was ever said about the strangely shaped ball of poo with newspaper wrapped around it!