Oh dear.

Sunday afternoon. South East London.
As I didn't have much to do I decided to go to the cinema, where Greenwich Picturehouse do matinees for a fiver.

After the film (Shifty, excellent), I popped into the toilet for a cheeky piss. As there was virtually no one in the cinema, I was looking forward to the moment of quiet reflection one can get from standing alone at the urinal.

Or so I thought.
A noise which can only be described as a cacophony made itself known from one of the cubicles. Think the beach landing from Saving Private Ryan.

I paused for a moment. "Oh God, it's someone having a fit of internal combustion in the cubicle, and he doesn't know I'm in here, so won't show any restraint." I had to act fast, to let him know that I'm here. I softly reached over to the door, and pulled it open, letting it slam back against it hinges, denoting that someone had entered the room.

Silence.

Brilliant. It's worked, I thought. Now all I need to do is wash my hands before..."PLOP PLOP PLOP!".
Oh no, he's still doing it. He knows I'm here, yet he continues! Suddenly I becamse painfully aware of the sound of toilet paper being used, trousers being pulled up. I've got to get out of here. There's no way I can look the man who provided the sound effects for Platoon in the eye. But it's too late. The cubicle door is opening, he's approaching the sink.

Silence.

"Nice day today isn't it mate?" he pipes up.

"Yeah, nice and sunny I guess" I awkwardly reply.

"Nice and quiet after the Marathon"

You have got to be shitting me.

With that I was out the door, running down Greenwich High street in the vain hope that I'd find something to take my mind off things. You just don't want that on a Sunday Afternoon.