Almost thirty years ago, when I lived with the folks who are now godparents to my daughter in Prospect Heights Brooklyn, they went away for a weekend leaving me in charge of the dogs and cat. One of the dogs crapped in the house and in clearing up the mess I contrived to block the downstairs loo. Red faced, I confessed on their return.
There was well concealed displeasure but clearly they viewed me as daft. I am staying with the same folks, now in Crown Heights Brooklyn, and tonight they went out to a play leaving me in charge of my daughter and a cat called Parker who has certain lavatorial issues.
I am sure you can guess what happened next. Yup, Parker crapped in the hall. I cleaned up and flushed just two small pieces of kitchen paper down the loo which is clearly tighter than a virgin gerbil as it got blocked. I just could not face a repeat of the events of 1986 and thus I spent the evening alternately watching a slice of Foyle's War on video with my daughter and sticking a wire hanger I had with me further and further up the U-bend.
As Foyle sent yet another chap to meet justice and the rope - in this case a German spy - triumph in Brooklyn: a successful flush. I have felt guilty about blocking up that loo for almost thirty years. Suddenly there is a great weight lifted from my shoulders.