More pooh humour...
Toilets. They are a refuge. Trans-cubicle communication is frowned upon, short of an appreciative laugh after a meaty trump from your neighbour. Certainly, passing little notes through under the wall would test a man's broad-mindedness as he opens the cargo doors. But, why not slip a note under the door just to see if you have a meeting of minds?
- Are you alone?
- Do you need any more toilet roll?
- Phoar, was that you?
- Call that a plop?
- Can you call a doctor, please?
- Would you mind if I got on my hands and knees and tried to undo your shoelaces?
- I'm drunk. Are you?
- I'm on my fifteenth wipe! My arsehole is really beginning to smart. I think more stuff keeps coming out between wipes. I'm beginning to panic. Any suggestions?
Thanks to disappointment.com.