PC Simpson has an Accident on the Coach
Posted: 16 Jun 2019, 23:00
I found this old story - I don't think it ever got moved over to this site
“Oh, I bloody hate these events”
“I know, nothing ever goes to plan”
“It’d be nice if we actually got some decent grub or more than a bottle of water”
“A break to go for a wee would be even better”
“Oh don’t start us off, you’ll be making me want to go”
“I’m not worried about you, it’s me, I’m busting already”
“And we’ve got the journey back yet”
“Don’t, I’ll be breaking my neck on that coach”
“Every bump, you know…oh dear”
“It’s not funny, I’ll be in agony if I have to hold on all the way back”
“There’s another option, mate”
“What? Wee himself, you mean?”
“Don’t say stuff like that, please”
“What’s his other choice then?”
“I just said, do it in his pants”
“No, you could just go and ask mate, say you’re bursting and ask if you can tiddle behind a tree”
“Yeah, that’ll go down well”
“Well, it sounds like it’s either that or give your pants a good soaking”
“Blimey, if you keep going on about stuff like that I will wet myself, I mean it”
The group of largely young police officers were standing casually on the corner of the street, half-watching the crowds of demonstrators they had been policing as people continued to gather and flock past, many milling around aimlessly whilst others loudly voiced their thoughts and views.
“There isn’t even anywhere to go for a wee, even if I could” said 25-year old PC Joe Simpson, the main protester about the condition of his bladder. “It’s hopeless, not even a bunch of bushes to nip behind”
“He can’t stop himself moaning, can he?”
“And we’re not even on the coach yet”
“Make sure I don’t get a seat next to him, imagine that whinging in your ear all the way back – I need a wee-wee”
“I’d be more worried sitting next to him in case, well – you know”
“You mean … ppssssssssssss … oops!”
“Hissing all down his legs”
“Will you lot shut up, for frig’s sake. The more you keep on, the worse it’s getting”
“Hey, it’s you going on and on about wanting a wee, you’ll talk yourself into doing it in your trousers if you’re not careful”
Joe looked to the skies, sucked in a mouthful of air and frowned in a pained expression before looking down at his boots and sweeping his hand across the top of his short fair-haired scalp.
Three or four minutes later, the general hubbub of chatter dropped to near-silence again.
“Where’s this bloody coach, I thought it was on its way when we were told to gather here”
“Imminent arrival, lads – as always”
“Still chugging its way here, I bet”
“You know what?” PC Simpson spoke loudly “I don’t think I’m going to be able to wait until we get back to the nick”
“You what?”
“He can’t wait … is it dripping already then, mate?”
“Woah, make space, Joey-boy gonna’s wee!”
“No really,” Joe had anxiety displayed all over his face, “I’m not going be able to last out for the journey, I won’t make it if I try, I know I won’t”
“Well, you’re going to have to hang on for dear life, here’s the bus”
“Ever heard the expression ‘tie a knot in it’, you’re going to need to do that now”
“Otherwise it’s going to be wet-knickers-Simpson after today”
“Or PC Piddly-Pants”
“Seriously, what am I going to do if I can’t make it in time? ‘Cos I think I might not” said an ever-more worried Joe.
“Erm, wet yourself?”
“Try tucking it tight between your legs and using your hands to pray for divine assistance”
“Here’s an original one mate, use your helmet”
As the cranky old coach ground to a halt adjacent to them, PC Simpson tentatively cupped his hand to his crotch and lifted his right leg from the ground, “I’m really, really bursting”
“No, you’re not, are you? You should have said, mate”
“Sarge, can we draw lots as to who has to sit next to Joe, I only had my uniform dry-cleaned last week, I don’t want to risk it getting wee’d on”
“Come on lads, settle down, the quicker we get on and get going, the quicker we’ll get back”
“I’ve a funny feeling it might not be quick enough for Joey’s bladder, Sarge”
“I think Joe’s got a funny feeling as well – a feeling that he might need a change of underpants!”
As the coachload of police officers settled into their seats, Joe Simpson was tense and panicky.
“Oh frigging ‘ell, this is a nightmare, it’s going to be a total nightmare this journey. This is really no joke, it’s going to be touch and go whether I can last out. I can’t remember that last time I had to go like this and there was no chance of using a toilet. If I don’t make it back, I’ll do it, I know I will, in my … well, you know. Oh God!”
“Oi Joe, what type of undies have you got on, mate? Thick-gussetted ones, I hope!”
“You’ll see them later, he’ll be drying them out over the radiator”
“Wringing them out more like, if he’s got to go as bad as he reckons”
“Get a move on with that driving, mate – otherwise you’ll be mopping out the bus, we’ve got an accident waiting to happen”
Twenty minutes later and still around 8-10 minutes from their destination, PC Joe Simpson was sitting on his seat, with his hands clasping his knees, rocking back and forth. The comments from his mates and colleagues were passing him by now as he focused all his thoughts on just one thing – containing himself until the coach arrived back. If he couldn’t, the consequences were simply unthinkable.
“Blimey, look at Joe Simpson. I know he needs a piss but just look at him.”
“Bloody Hell, he looks like he’s nearly doing it”
“The way he’s sitting, I don’t reckon he’s going to be able to hold on much longer”
“I wonder if Sarge realises what sort of state he’s in?”
“Hey Sarge, have you seen Joe? I’m not exaggerating but I honestly think he’s close to wetting himself”
“What? Wetting himself? What are you talking about?”
“He looks in agony, Sarge, as if he’s about to piss his pants”
“We’ve only been going a quarter of an hour, what’s up with him?”
“I know, but he was saying he was desperate when we were stood down”
“Well that’s his fault if he got on like it. Anyway, there’s nothing we can do now. He’ll have to sit tight and wait”
“I’m not sure he’ll make it”
“Don’t be daft, I’m not chaperoning a class of school kids”
“How’s Joey-lad doing back there – is it running down his legs yet?”
“Trickle-down-the-aisle-of-the-coach alert!”
“Pee puddle warning!”
“Hey lads, lay off a bit, we’ve got a serious situation here”
“Serious? Why, he hasn’t gone and whipped it out and widdled on the floor, has he? Public order offence, that is”
“No, he’s really in a bad way, mate”
“I thought he was just busting for a wee, like half of us are?”
“Yeah, but he’s really, really busting, like on the verge”
“On the verge? Of doing it, you mean?”
“Yes, he’s almost going in his pants, if he hasn’t done it already”
“Bloody Hell”
“What’s going on back there? What’s all the commotion?”
“I think it’s Joe Simpson, it sounds like they’re saying he’s doing a piss in his trousers”
“What! I heard him saying he was dying for the loo when we were there”
“Me too, sounds like he might have wet himself”
“No, not yet he hasn’t, but by the looks of him, it ain’t going to be long before he does”
“Can’t we stop for him, if it’s that bad?”
“Hey Sarge, if Joe’s having an accident in his trousers, can’t we pull over somewhere?”
Sitting in his window seat, PC Simpson was hugging his knees, sitting right on the edge of his chair and every so often, clamping his legs back and forth. His upper body was hunched forwards but his head was leaning back, his short fair hair plastered to his forehead and his face red with rosy cheeks as he puffed his cheeks out and blew out air time after time through his heavy breathing.
Another officer slid into the adjacent seat “Joe, mate, what are you like, eh? Fancy getting yourself in this state. Just sit tight lad, we’ll get you there okay”
“I can’t” Joe whispered, between breaths, “I’m not going to make it”
“You will, you’ll be okay, just hold on, you’ll be first off the coach and it’ll all be over before you know it”
“It’s no good” croaked Joe in an even quieter voice, “I’m going to … I’m going to … I’m going to have to go in my pants”
“Don’t you dare, mate, don’t do that, don’t even think about it”
“I can’t help it, I really can’t help myself. I am going to have to do it in my pants”
“Alright mate, alright, if you have to wet yourself you’ll have to do it, if you go in your trousers it’s not the end of the world, just let it go in your pants if there’s nothing else you can do”
His colleague gripped Joe’s lower arm, gave it a squeeze and glanced round at other watching faces and just shrugged helplessly before standing up and walking to the seat where their sergeant sat.
“Sarge, Joe Simpson says he’s got no choice other to wet his pants, he’s deadly serious”
“Oh shit! We’re nearly there, he can’t wet himself, no way!”
“He’s going to do it, it’s probably going all down his legs right now”
“Shit, shit, shit!”
PC Simpson lifted his backside from his seat and held his posture with his upper legs a couple of inches from the chair as scorching hot sticky wetness weaved its way across his arse cheek. He had no idea how much he was weeing, all he could feel was incredible warmth and stickiness spreading in the seat of his underpants. Instantly, the sensation disappeared and he sank back into his seat, his pants rapidly cooling and horribly uncomfortable as the wet cotton material stuck to his bum, leaving him feeling cold and clammy. He knew he hadn’t deliberately stopped – or even started – urinating but the cessation of the flow intensified the pain in his belly.
Another police officer was suddenly beside him once again, “Joe, listen, we’re almost there mate, you’ve made it if you can just …”
The voice stuttered to a halt as his colleague saw the crotch of Joe Simpson’s police trousers glisten with wetness which quickly disappeared before bubbling pee saturated the dark material and ran back into the inside of his trousers again.
“Oh Joe, mate” he whispered as he put his hand on the back of Joe’s neck and rubbed gently, turning to the lads sitting in the opposite seats and mouthing, “He’s pissing himself”
Within seconds those words had reverberated through the coach, prompting a mixed reaction of sympathy, shock, horror and amusement.
A couple of minutes later, the coach indicated to pull into the police station yard – with time seemingly standing still, as had been the case for the previous sixty seconds or so. The majority of those on the coach were still in a stunned silence at what appeared to have happened. In his seat PC Joe Simpson was still sitting in absolute agony, the excruciating pain in his lower regions had not abated and although he was sitting in a sticky and cold wetness, his crotch had also lost the warmth that had permeated through his pants. The crotch of his uniform trousers was sodden and the front of his pants clung to him.
“Get him off, let him go first”
“Try and help him stand up and get out”
“Stay in your seats, everyone”
“Hang back, let’s get him off quickly”
Joe was almost oblivious as his colleagues took hold of him.
“I thought he’d wet himself?”
“Who said he’d pissed himself?”
“Someone’s having a laugh, he’s not done anything”
“Well, he looks like he’s in a trance”
“That must cos he’s so desperate”
“All that bloody fuss he was making and he’s got back okay”
“Well, I’m not hanging back any longer, I really am busting for a piss”
Joe Simpson felt himself propelled to the front of the coach and as he went down the two steps from the exit door, his feet had hardly touched the floor, with one colleague alongside him and another right behind him. He got off the coach and stood motionless a few metres from the front exit, as the others began to pile off in ungainly fashion.
“Joe, can you get inside to the toilet okay? Do you want any help?”
In the midst of the hoards of officers exiting the coach, PC Joe Simpson suddenly let out a whimper which turned into a low, quiet moan and a little jerk of his whole body. Standing with his legs apart, he turned his knees slightly inwards and his feet also turned inwards as he sunk into a semi-squat, sticking his backside out with his thighs moving closer towards each other.
Almost instantly, the crotch of his uniform trousers glistened, shone and darkened even further and this time the wetness did not recede. With a couple of seconds, the wetness was flowing down both thighs and almost simultaneously, a stream of liquid emerged from the left-hand side of the bottom of his crotch, emanating right at the top of his leg and rapidly gathering pace into a jet which fired torrentially through his trousers and splattered onto the tarmac floor. The torrent was a fire-hose jetting forcefully through his trousers as the young policeman peed uncontrollably like a steaming water syphon.
He stood rigid and without movement as the scorching hot pee continued to fire through his white cotton underpants and his uniform trousers and poured hotly down both of his legs, weaving its way through the hairs of his legs, streaming down his shins and calves and soaking into his black sports socks which clung cold and sodden to his ankles.
Both of his shoes were surrounded by puddles, growing ever-bigger and merging into one steaming pool which accumulated beneath both of his feet.
Expressionless and motionless, young PC Joe Simpson stood wetting his pants in front of loads of his astonished colleagues, who just watched him wet himself.
The show was finally over as the flow diminished into a series of trickles all down Joe’s legs and, assisted by a couple of his mates, he squelched his way out of the puddle and across the tarmac, leaving a series of shoe-shaped wet prints as he headed for the stations toilets and an unenviable clean-up operation, with his still stunned colleagues watching on.
“Blimey, talk about tiddling yourself - that was a bit spectacular”
“I can’t believe he wet himself”
“Poor sod, how badly must he have needed to go to do a flood like that?”
“I don’t know he managed to hold it in that long”
“He must have been doing it in his pants on the coach”
“He looked like he was on the verge of tears on the bus, he must have been in agony”
“How many times is he going to be reminded of this?”
“Hasn’t his missus just had a kid? That’s going to be a story to tell the little ‘un”
“We’re going to take the piss something rotten – he’ll be laughing with us eventually”
“Oh, I bloody hate these events”
“I know, nothing ever goes to plan”
“It’d be nice if we actually got some decent grub or more than a bottle of water”
“A break to go for a wee would be even better”
“Oh don’t start us off, you’ll be making me want to go”
“I’m not worried about you, it’s me, I’m busting already”
“And we’ve got the journey back yet”
“Don’t, I’ll be breaking my neck on that coach”
“Every bump, you know…oh dear”
“It’s not funny, I’ll be in agony if I have to hold on all the way back”
“There’s another option, mate”
“What? Wee himself, you mean?”
“Don’t say stuff like that, please”
“What’s his other choice then?”
“I just said, do it in his pants”
“No, you could just go and ask mate, say you’re bursting and ask if you can tiddle behind a tree”
“Yeah, that’ll go down well”
“Well, it sounds like it’s either that or give your pants a good soaking”
“Blimey, if you keep going on about stuff like that I will wet myself, I mean it”
The group of largely young police officers were standing casually on the corner of the street, half-watching the crowds of demonstrators they had been policing as people continued to gather and flock past, many milling around aimlessly whilst others loudly voiced their thoughts and views.
“There isn’t even anywhere to go for a wee, even if I could” said 25-year old PC Joe Simpson, the main protester about the condition of his bladder. “It’s hopeless, not even a bunch of bushes to nip behind”
“He can’t stop himself moaning, can he?”
“And we’re not even on the coach yet”
“Make sure I don’t get a seat next to him, imagine that whinging in your ear all the way back – I need a wee-wee”
“I’d be more worried sitting next to him in case, well – you know”
“You mean … ppssssssssssss … oops!”
“Hissing all down his legs”
“Will you lot shut up, for frig’s sake. The more you keep on, the worse it’s getting”
“Hey, it’s you going on and on about wanting a wee, you’ll talk yourself into doing it in your trousers if you’re not careful”
Joe looked to the skies, sucked in a mouthful of air and frowned in a pained expression before looking down at his boots and sweeping his hand across the top of his short fair-haired scalp.
Three or four minutes later, the general hubbub of chatter dropped to near-silence again.
“Where’s this bloody coach, I thought it was on its way when we were told to gather here”
“Imminent arrival, lads – as always”
“Still chugging its way here, I bet”
“You know what?” PC Simpson spoke loudly “I don’t think I’m going to be able to wait until we get back to the nick”
“You what?”
“He can’t wait … is it dripping already then, mate?”
“Woah, make space, Joey-boy gonna’s wee!”
“No really,” Joe had anxiety displayed all over his face, “I’m not going be able to last out for the journey, I won’t make it if I try, I know I won’t”
“Well, you’re going to have to hang on for dear life, here’s the bus”
“Ever heard the expression ‘tie a knot in it’, you’re going to need to do that now”
“Otherwise it’s going to be wet-knickers-Simpson after today”
“Or PC Piddly-Pants”
“Seriously, what am I going to do if I can’t make it in time? ‘Cos I think I might not” said an ever-more worried Joe.
“Erm, wet yourself?”
“Try tucking it tight between your legs and using your hands to pray for divine assistance”
“Here’s an original one mate, use your helmet”
As the cranky old coach ground to a halt adjacent to them, PC Simpson tentatively cupped his hand to his crotch and lifted his right leg from the ground, “I’m really, really bursting”
“No, you’re not, are you? You should have said, mate”
“Sarge, can we draw lots as to who has to sit next to Joe, I only had my uniform dry-cleaned last week, I don’t want to risk it getting wee’d on”
“Come on lads, settle down, the quicker we get on and get going, the quicker we’ll get back”
“I’ve a funny feeling it might not be quick enough for Joey’s bladder, Sarge”
“I think Joe’s got a funny feeling as well – a feeling that he might need a change of underpants!”
As the coachload of police officers settled into their seats, Joe Simpson was tense and panicky.
“Oh frigging ‘ell, this is a nightmare, it’s going to be a total nightmare this journey. This is really no joke, it’s going to be touch and go whether I can last out. I can’t remember that last time I had to go like this and there was no chance of using a toilet. If I don’t make it back, I’ll do it, I know I will, in my … well, you know. Oh God!”
“Oi Joe, what type of undies have you got on, mate? Thick-gussetted ones, I hope!”
“You’ll see them later, he’ll be drying them out over the radiator”
“Wringing them out more like, if he’s got to go as bad as he reckons”
“Get a move on with that driving, mate – otherwise you’ll be mopping out the bus, we’ve got an accident waiting to happen”
Twenty minutes later and still around 8-10 minutes from their destination, PC Joe Simpson was sitting on his seat, with his hands clasping his knees, rocking back and forth. The comments from his mates and colleagues were passing him by now as he focused all his thoughts on just one thing – containing himself until the coach arrived back. If he couldn’t, the consequences were simply unthinkable.
“Blimey, look at Joe Simpson. I know he needs a piss but just look at him.”
“Bloody Hell, he looks like he’s nearly doing it”
“The way he’s sitting, I don’t reckon he’s going to be able to hold on much longer”
“I wonder if Sarge realises what sort of state he’s in?”
“Hey Sarge, have you seen Joe? I’m not exaggerating but I honestly think he’s close to wetting himself”
“What? Wetting himself? What are you talking about?”
“He looks in agony, Sarge, as if he’s about to piss his pants”
“We’ve only been going a quarter of an hour, what’s up with him?”
“I know, but he was saying he was desperate when we were stood down”
“Well that’s his fault if he got on like it. Anyway, there’s nothing we can do now. He’ll have to sit tight and wait”
“I’m not sure he’ll make it”
“Don’t be daft, I’m not chaperoning a class of school kids”
“How’s Joey-lad doing back there – is it running down his legs yet?”
“Trickle-down-the-aisle-of-the-coach alert!”
“Pee puddle warning!”
“Hey lads, lay off a bit, we’ve got a serious situation here”
“Serious? Why, he hasn’t gone and whipped it out and widdled on the floor, has he? Public order offence, that is”
“No, he’s really in a bad way, mate”
“I thought he was just busting for a wee, like half of us are?”
“Yeah, but he’s really, really busting, like on the verge”
“On the verge? Of doing it, you mean?”
“Yes, he’s almost going in his pants, if he hasn’t done it already”
“Bloody Hell”
“What’s going on back there? What’s all the commotion?”
“I think it’s Joe Simpson, it sounds like they’re saying he’s doing a piss in his trousers”
“What! I heard him saying he was dying for the loo when we were there”
“Me too, sounds like he might have wet himself”
“No, not yet he hasn’t, but by the looks of him, it ain’t going to be long before he does”
“Can’t we stop for him, if it’s that bad?”
“Hey Sarge, if Joe’s having an accident in his trousers, can’t we pull over somewhere?”
Sitting in his window seat, PC Simpson was hugging his knees, sitting right on the edge of his chair and every so often, clamping his legs back and forth. His upper body was hunched forwards but his head was leaning back, his short fair hair plastered to his forehead and his face red with rosy cheeks as he puffed his cheeks out and blew out air time after time through his heavy breathing.
Another officer slid into the adjacent seat “Joe, mate, what are you like, eh? Fancy getting yourself in this state. Just sit tight lad, we’ll get you there okay”
“I can’t” Joe whispered, between breaths, “I’m not going to make it”
“You will, you’ll be okay, just hold on, you’ll be first off the coach and it’ll all be over before you know it”
“It’s no good” croaked Joe in an even quieter voice, “I’m going to … I’m going to … I’m going to have to go in my pants”
“Don’t you dare, mate, don’t do that, don’t even think about it”
“I can’t help it, I really can’t help myself. I am going to have to do it in my pants”
“Alright mate, alright, if you have to wet yourself you’ll have to do it, if you go in your trousers it’s not the end of the world, just let it go in your pants if there’s nothing else you can do”
His colleague gripped Joe’s lower arm, gave it a squeeze and glanced round at other watching faces and just shrugged helplessly before standing up and walking to the seat where their sergeant sat.
“Sarge, Joe Simpson says he’s got no choice other to wet his pants, he’s deadly serious”
“Oh shit! We’re nearly there, he can’t wet himself, no way!”
“He’s going to do it, it’s probably going all down his legs right now”
“Shit, shit, shit!”
PC Simpson lifted his backside from his seat and held his posture with his upper legs a couple of inches from the chair as scorching hot sticky wetness weaved its way across his arse cheek. He had no idea how much he was weeing, all he could feel was incredible warmth and stickiness spreading in the seat of his underpants. Instantly, the sensation disappeared and he sank back into his seat, his pants rapidly cooling and horribly uncomfortable as the wet cotton material stuck to his bum, leaving him feeling cold and clammy. He knew he hadn’t deliberately stopped – or even started – urinating but the cessation of the flow intensified the pain in his belly.
Another police officer was suddenly beside him once again, “Joe, listen, we’re almost there mate, you’ve made it if you can just …”
The voice stuttered to a halt as his colleague saw the crotch of Joe Simpson’s police trousers glisten with wetness which quickly disappeared before bubbling pee saturated the dark material and ran back into the inside of his trousers again.
“Oh Joe, mate” he whispered as he put his hand on the back of Joe’s neck and rubbed gently, turning to the lads sitting in the opposite seats and mouthing, “He’s pissing himself”
Within seconds those words had reverberated through the coach, prompting a mixed reaction of sympathy, shock, horror and amusement.
A couple of minutes later, the coach indicated to pull into the police station yard – with time seemingly standing still, as had been the case for the previous sixty seconds or so. The majority of those on the coach were still in a stunned silence at what appeared to have happened. In his seat PC Joe Simpson was still sitting in absolute agony, the excruciating pain in his lower regions had not abated and although he was sitting in a sticky and cold wetness, his crotch had also lost the warmth that had permeated through his pants. The crotch of his uniform trousers was sodden and the front of his pants clung to him.
“Get him off, let him go first”
“Try and help him stand up and get out”
“Stay in your seats, everyone”
“Hang back, let’s get him off quickly”
Joe was almost oblivious as his colleagues took hold of him.
“I thought he’d wet himself?”
“Who said he’d pissed himself?”
“Someone’s having a laugh, he’s not done anything”
“Well, he looks like he’s in a trance”
“That must cos he’s so desperate”
“All that bloody fuss he was making and he’s got back okay”
“Well, I’m not hanging back any longer, I really am busting for a piss”
Joe Simpson felt himself propelled to the front of the coach and as he went down the two steps from the exit door, his feet had hardly touched the floor, with one colleague alongside him and another right behind him. He got off the coach and stood motionless a few metres from the front exit, as the others began to pile off in ungainly fashion.
“Joe, can you get inside to the toilet okay? Do you want any help?”
In the midst of the hoards of officers exiting the coach, PC Joe Simpson suddenly let out a whimper which turned into a low, quiet moan and a little jerk of his whole body. Standing with his legs apart, he turned his knees slightly inwards and his feet also turned inwards as he sunk into a semi-squat, sticking his backside out with his thighs moving closer towards each other.
Almost instantly, the crotch of his uniform trousers glistened, shone and darkened even further and this time the wetness did not recede. With a couple of seconds, the wetness was flowing down both thighs and almost simultaneously, a stream of liquid emerged from the left-hand side of the bottom of his crotch, emanating right at the top of his leg and rapidly gathering pace into a jet which fired torrentially through his trousers and splattered onto the tarmac floor. The torrent was a fire-hose jetting forcefully through his trousers as the young policeman peed uncontrollably like a steaming water syphon.
He stood rigid and without movement as the scorching hot pee continued to fire through his white cotton underpants and his uniform trousers and poured hotly down both of his legs, weaving its way through the hairs of his legs, streaming down his shins and calves and soaking into his black sports socks which clung cold and sodden to his ankles.
Both of his shoes were surrounded by puddles, growing ever-bigger and merging into one steaming pool which accumulated beneath both of his feet.
Expressionless and motionless, young PC Joe Simpson stood wetting his pants in front of loads of his astonished colleagues, who just watched him wet himself.
The show was finally over as the flow diminished into a series of trickles all down Joe’s legs and, assisted by a couple of his mates, he squelched his way out of the puddle and across the tarmac, leaving a series of shoe-shaped wet prints as he headed for the stations toilets and an unenviable clean-up operation, with his still stunned colleagues watching on.
“Blimey, talk about tiddling yourself - that was a bit spectacular”
“I can’t believe he wet himself”
“Poor sod, how badly must he have needed to go to do a flood like that?”
“I don’t know he managed to hold it in that long”
“He must have been doing it in his pants on the coach”
“He looked like he was on the verge of tears on the bus, he must have been in agony”
“How many times is he going to be reminded of this?”
“Hasn’t his missus just had a kid? That’s going to be a story to tell the little ‘un”
“We’re going to take the piss something rotten – he’ll be laughing with us eventually”