Surviving An Abysmal Chilango Shit Attack
Tonight I decided to have some Chilango in Angel, Islington for supper. I was celebrating finally deciding upon a new pair of shoes to replace my stinky LEJOGs.
I chose the extra hot nachos without really thinking about the consequences.
Guess what happened next?
I worry about shitting myself on the bus up from work a lot. That’s why I sit downstairs and carry a £10 with me so I can burst into a pub, order an Appletiser, throw my money at them and shit wherever I want (within reason).
I got off the bus at Tottenham Hale and began to run in my jeans. I haven’t worn these jeans since before LEJOG so they were falling off my arse and by the time I started running properly they were almost down to my knees.
The first 2km went really well. I ran past some people who gave me some awkward looks but I did not care. My run streak was alive and that’s all that mattered. There was not a word of discontent from my arse either.
It’s hard to look cool when you’re tugging on your trousers just to stop them falling off you.
Then suddenly the urge to shit struck. At first I was flippant about it. I was wearing underpants and jeans so if I did have an accident at least most of it would be absorbed unlike with my shit outside the Turkish Grocers.
I was stuck in the industrial part of Tottenham that has no pubs or cafes so the options for a water landing were remote. I sat down at a bus stop and did a wee dance to try to make it retract back up inside of me but all I could see in my head was a sea of brown drowning out the bench. Sad new emulsion. Next stop – brown town.
It was depressing being back in that situation. I started singing ‘Never Going Back Again’ by Fleetwood Mac to myself to try to summon up the strength to avoid another crisis.
And it worked. Thank you Lindsay Buckingham. You saved me from the shit.
My new shoes are New Balance and they are nice and bouncy. £44. Good price.
Now gonna go upstairs and do what I have to do. Think I’ll finish the night off with ‘The Chain’.