There was nobody at the desk. I’m not hanging around to wait for anybody to come check me in, I was desperate for the human version of *logging out* so I ran to the toilet. As I was running a faint thought ran from ear-to-ear *you don’t know where the toilets are you fool*. The thought was right, this was my first time at the Neighbourhood Watch Awards in Wetwang.

My pelvis arched forward, my hand covering my bum (the most futile self-protection device known to man), my legs swinging aimlessly taking me to a sign at the end of a corridor that said “STAGE THIS WAY”. The pounding in my bowels worsened, it felt like a ramrod at a locked door, but the door was weak. How long could it repel the ramrod? You won’t see ramrod written so close together many more times in your reading life.

I removed my bow tie and put it down the back of my pants, adding to the futile self protection list. It felt weird. I got that sharp pain you get about three times a year that feels like you’ve been stabbed in the rectum. My face contorted and used muscles in my jaw that my jaw didn’t know it had, so much so that I won the gurning competition that was taking place in that corridor and was served with a certificate and a 9% addition to my next bill at PlasticSurgeriesWereUsDIYAtHomeKit

I still could not see the toilets anywhere as I got to a set of double doors that said “DO NOT ENTER”. I entered and was faced with a wall of dark curtains that was hiding voices and clapping. I looked at my watch and it was still time to go to the toilet. Peaking through the curtains, I could see a woman on the stage at a pulpit talking to a crowd of tables with the local busy-bodies sat gormlessly at them. Just then the doors behind me swung open

“You’re not supposed to be back here. Who are you?” Said the dapper old man

“I’m Trev, a nominee in the *peeking out of the blinds* category, but I’m late and desperate for the toilet, do you know where they are?”

“They’re at the other side of the stage, you can’t get there from this side”

Oh no, I can’t wait any longer. The man walks round the back of the curtains and I’m left here with a stark choice. I log off here, or I run across the stage.

I’m halfway across the stage before I realise what I’ve done. The crowd gasps, the guest speaker thinks she’s said something wrong, and I trip over the electric wires laid on the stage just as I reach the other side, to a cacophony of laughter.

“I blame the parents” shouts my dad.

 I sneak off the side and I find the toilet, breathe a sigh of relief, reach for the handle and see the evil word “ENGAGED”