Back in the 80s,
when I was about three or four years old, we lived on a tenement estate.
Everybody knew each other, and I was only a toddler, so the local kids hadn't had time to realise they hated me and wanted to bash me up.
My best friend Daniel lived next door, and our mums would lift us over the yard walls and let us play together. We weren't always supervised, but paedos hadn't been invented and kids could smoke and drink in those days, so it was totally fine.

One day, Daniel decided he was going indoors for something, and told me to wait. I sat on his tricycle and waited.

But I needed a wee.

I didn't want to just go into their house, because that would have been rude, and besides, my mum had said that other people's toilets were dirty and I was to always ask her or my dad to hold me above the seat while I peed. This was a rule that, when verbalised very loudly by me, once caused deep offence when I needed to 'go' at my paternal grandmother's house. So, that was not going to happen.

I really needed to wee.

I didn't want to just leave and go for a wee, because I was supposed to always tell Daniel's mum when I wanted to go, so that she could lift me over the yard walls for my mum to take me in.
What should I do? I should take charge, leave by the gate, walk along the street and go to my own toilet, that's what I should do.

By now, I was desperate for a wee.

So, I lifted up my leg to get off the tricycle.
And pissed all over Daniel's seat.
I ran out of the gate, around the yard, through our gate, into the bathroom, hid my drawers in the washing basket (which, incidentally, looked exactly like a snake-charmer's basket) and sat in the living room.

"How did you get home?"
"Climbed over the wall."
"You can't reach."
"Daniel helped me"
"What about the other wall?" (there was a gap between the two yards)
"Well for that bit, I walked around and came through the gate."
"But you know you should always get Sandra to pass you over to me, or to call me. You can't go outside the yards."
"Sorry, but I needed to wee."
She was not convinced, but it was left. Phew. We watched Where There's Life or something else with a good theme tune, and my mum went about her business. I heard talking. "Alright, thanks Sandra. T'rah!"
Shit! Ok, now is when I have to come clean. I've lied enough.

"Roota. Did you wee on Daniel's bike?"
"No..."
"Why is there wee on Daniel's bike? And why are your wet knicks in the washing basket?" (I thought of snake charmers again.)
"Well, I pushed a button in the wall, and all water game down from the first landing, and it went on Daniel's bike, and then I sat on it and my knicks..."
"Roota, stop telling lies. You know that lies are naughty. Weeing on Daniel's bike was not naughty, but all of those lies were very very naughty. Next time, try owning up, and not trying to lie your way out of it. Ok?"

the moral of the story?
Two weeks later I did NOT let Daniel push me around in the doll's pram, fall out and get a lump on my head. I actually pushed ANOTHER button in the wall, and the brick came out and hit me. Truth.
I have never learnt.
( Roota zweeeeeoooooowm, Fri 13 Aug 2010, 11:17, Reply)