Things could be worse.I've written in the past that no matter how bad things are, there's always something much worse that could be happening to you.
For example: A colleague told me "There's nothing worse than ringing your bank's call centre and being forced to listen to selections from James Blunt's Back to Bedlam album whilst waiting to be served."
On the contrary, I reply. James Blunt, coming round your house to tell you that you're overdrawn at the bank, before singing selections from his Back to Bedlam album whilst trying to force an angry goose up your rectum.
That is, I think you'll agree, much worse.
However, I have found the thing that cannot be worse. And it is this: Going to the toilet in a Morrisons supermarket.
And by "going to the toilet", we mean number twos and not number ones.
Number ones are fine. You walk in, do your business whilst obeying the rules of urinal etiquette, wash your hands, leave.
Number twos are a different matter altogether.
For the cubicles are in a grim corner of the facility, lit only by an oppressive blue light, designed solely to say "Right, have a shit if you must, then LEAVE".
And once you find yourself in the cubicle, you are completely engulfed in the claustrophobic blue; the sound of the outside world completely swallowed up by the drowning void; gagging at the detestable ichor of over-used cleaning products and the mouldering deposits of other unfortunates; quite unable to do anything except number twos; panic rising inside, the dread thought that someone, somewhere is watching you with squamous eyes; breaking, crushing, obliterating the desire to get up to anything anti-social or illegal, such as look under the gap of your necrophagous prison to see how the adjacent victim is coping; fear, fear, fear, never-ending piteous FEAR; your only thought being to escape this evil, inhuman womb and burst forth like the squirming young of some dread, otherworldly creature.
There is nothing - NOTHING - worse in the whole world.
Then they make you wipe your bum on an angry goose.
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