World's greatest living Welshman Rikaitch has been asked by his doctor for a urine sample following a recent health scare. To this end, they have supplied him with a one-gallon drum of the kind usually employed to transport toxic waste.
What, we asked, could we do to make the experience more interesting? More to the point, what's the best way of confusing the poor bugger who's got to
It is simple, and involves the application of SCIENCE. Several years ago, I went through a phase of eating pickled beetroot morning, noon and night. I did this because they are tasty gorgeous and I am the only person in my household who will touch them.
Unfortunately – and I only noticed this whilst taking a wee during the interval at a rather posh visit to the opera – that it turns your urine red.
I failed to make the connection at the time, and spent much of the second act convinced I was about to poo my kidneys out. It was only when I got home and indulged in a small snack of beetroot, beetroot, spring onions and beetroot that the awful truth dawned.
I imagine a similar effect could be achieved by drinking neat food dye or Quink Ink, and the uproar of walking into the doctor's surgery with a rainbow of urine bottles would be a joy to behold.
Alternatively, you could eat several packets of Extra Strong Mints and sell your piss as Listerine mouth wash.
And here comes the plan, all in the name of SCIENCE.
Once I have found just the right shade of rusty yellow, I shall decant the whole lot from the jars I keep in the living room into a whisky bottle. A whisky bottle I will then leave in one of Weymouth's tramp-infested seafront shelters.
And wait, camera in hand.
Can hobos, a forthcoming edition of the British Medical Journal will ask, tell the difference between grain alcohol and wee?
The Nobel Prize awaits.
Not just any Nobel Prize.
The Nobel Piss Prize.