TMFFTTM6

It was another of those things that your father fails to tell you about as a boy, like checking that your underpants are in your luggage. I had set off with my companion Liz for a walk in the countryside. Liz is "clubbing fit" the sort of club that plays 170 beats-per-minute music till five o'clock in the morning, whereas I have the fitness of one of the denizens of the sort of club where elderly gentlemen with red faces and carbuncle noses, snore gently under a copy of the Times, and wheeze when their cigar is reluctant to draw. Consequently a walk with Liz consists of me staring at her receding buttocks (not as in "hairline") for a few seconds, before turning my attention to her heels, and then the patch of ground immediately in front of me. Occasionally she stops to let me catch up (and, I suspect, gloat), and point her in the right direction, before she trips off into the distance, surrounded by a pink haze. I should point out, sadly, that the haze is probably less part of her character but more some sort of catastrophic vascular event that I'm going through.
This particular day we were doing a round walk from Tring Station to Ivinghoe Beacon and were on the return leg when disaster struck. My bowels (yes them again) announced their presence by going into spasm causing me to use my outdoor skills and scan the barren ground for some sort of public convenience, or, failing that, cover. Pressure mounted, this was not going to go away. Stiff-legged, tight-arsed (no comments please) I made my way towards a narrow thicket, occasionally stopping as waves of discomfort coursed down my, soon to be less, corpulent frame. Liz watched, caught in limbo halfway between pity and hysterical laughter.
"Liz, got any tissues?"
"One - but I've used it."
What sort of girl was this? La belle dame sans tissus. Inconceivable! A woman in the countryside with almost no paper products of any kind. I accepted the tissue and found some acceptably thick Leylandii. I emerged sometime later, pale, and with only half a handkerchief. It could have been worse, the same bug had caused three solid (I use the word advisedly) days of D and V in other people.
Moral: While all women should carry tissues some of them don't.