A very good friend of mine who is a senior academic and old enough to know better used to have to make a regular return trip up the M40. This trip usually took about 45 mins each way so he wasn't unduly concerned one friday evening to realise about five minutes after leaving on return trip northwards that he should probably have spent a little time on the croucher before leaving.
Cue huge Traffic Jam on the M40. Some two and a half hours later he is in some serious discomfort and the traffic hasn't moved for about an hour. If only he could get to the next junction he could get in to that bog in the layby on the A40 a little south of Oxford. At last the traffic starts to move and only a few minutes later he is pulling into said layby. He had already undone his trousers to relieve the pressure and as it was late at night and dark he was starting to drop them as he made it through the door to save a few precious seconds. Some twat had nicked or broken all the light bulbs so in pitch darkness he makes his way to one of the traps as carefully as one who has the turtles head and shoulders ever can. At last! He falls onto the bog and simultaneously relaxes his tired sphincter only to discover that the bog seat was down, and that who ever had done for the bulbs had also had it away with the arsewipe...
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