Gloucester Travel Guide – A Blast from the Past*
I came across Gloucester’s ‘Historic Docks’ by accident after an incident-packed stay at a bed and breakfast in the nearby town of Nailsworth.
I’d spent an evening out in Nailsworth, making the most of the few pubs it has to offer, so I arrived back at the B&B at some ungodly hour in the morning, and somewhat worse for wear.
Everybody was in bed, the house was in darkness and unfortunately I’d forgotten where the light-switch was. So I stumbled around in the dark, broke a number of china ornaments and fell down the stairs, twice, before finally finding my room on the first floor.
Having got to my room, and by some small miracle not having woken anybody, I then realised I desperately needed the toilet.
So I had to leave the well-lit sanctuary of my room to go back into the dark of the landing to find the bathroom, and thus relieve myself of seven pints of fizzy lager.
There was more fumbling around in the gloom, but this time with crossed legs and a distinct sense of urgency. Fortunately, I managed to locate the bathroom.
In no mood to even attempt to find its light-switch I quickly unzipped myself ready for action and headed into the darkness. This obviously sent a subconscious signal to my bladder and I began to uncontrollably widdle as I walked.
To my credit I did try to aim at what looked like a toilet in the distance.
When I eventually reached the pan my bursting bladder give full vent to its feelings. Once the mission was accomplished, I thought I’d better find the bathroom light and see what damage had been done.
It wasn’t too bad, considering I’d pretty much started my micturition back at the doorway.
There were a few small puddles here and there, so I set about mopping them up with some toilet roll. When my cleaning was finished I flushed all the sodden paper down the loo, or tried to.
The toilet had a manufacturer’s badge on the cistern and it and proudly proclaimed itself to be the ‘Dudley Elite’, a toilet no doubt aimed at the upper echelons of society.
Presumably the Lords and Ladies of our land have a servant to stick their arm around the U-bend of the Dudley Elite when it gets blocked, however I didn’t have a butler to hand.
After the fifth flush, and hearing the stirrings of waking guests, I decided more radical action was needed.
I lifted the lid on the cistern and pushed down on the ball-cock. My theory was that the cistern would fill higher than normal and thus the power in the next flush would be equivalent to a small tsunami.
It took about ten minutes of this before I realised that water had been pouring out of the hole where the loose-fitting handle was.
The uber-flush theory worked though, and the blockage obligingly disappeared.
The next morning my ‘traditional farmhouse breakfast’ was plonked unceremoniously in front of me. There was a bucket in the middle of the dining room, into which the occasional drop of water plopped loudly.
Looking up I noticed that the drips were coming from a large bulge in the ceiling. As every plop landed, a hush came over the room and all eyes focused on me.
To add insult to injury, another problem had started bubbling to the surface. As well as drinking copious amounts of lager the previous evening I’d also rounded things off with a large Chicken Vindaloo that was now making its presence felt.
Beads of sweat appeared on my forehead as I realised that, once more, I’d have to do battle with the Dudley Elite…and this time with solids.
My anxiety was short lived though, as my bill was slapped in front of me and my baggage placed next to my table. The choice had been made for me. I was no longer welcome and the imminent evacuation of my bowels would have to be done elsewhere.
So I headed off towards the motorway.
The best thing to do, I reasoned, was to head for a motorway service-station. They don’t possess flimsy and delicate kharzis like the Dudley Elite. These establishments have to deal with the comings and goings of truck drivers, and their abnormally heavy loads, not the rose-scented rabbit-pellets of the aristocracy.
On the way I passed a tourist sign that pointed the way to ‘Gloucester’s Historic Docks’. As things were getting very close to crisis-point in my trousers, I turned off and followed the sign. This was in the hopes that such a tourist hot-spot was bound to have public conveniences.
As it was early in the morning, parking wasn’t a problem, however finding the toilets became a major headache.
A series of signs sent me running round in circles with one hand desperately clutching my backside. When I did eventually find the toilets, they were closed and they weren’t due to open until ten o’clock. I sank to my knees and sobbed.
Thus it was that Gloucester’s ancient docks witnessed a historical re-enactment of a large amount of cargo being unloaded over the quayside.
Once my scatological nightmare was over, I had time to look around.
There’s a canal boat museum, and an advertising museum called the Robert Opie Collection. I would heartily recommend the latter as being of interest.
Unfortunately my own visit was cut short when the police eventually caught up with me and told me they had all the evidence they needed via the CCTV cameras.
*Blast from the Past – This is somewhere I’ve not visited recently, however I must have written about it at some point as I’ve just found it in my archive. So, now its getting an airing on this website. My apologies if any of the facilities or attractions I’ve mentioned no longer exist. Indeed, due to rising sea levels, bush fires or military invasion by one of our crazier world leaders, the place itself may no longer exist. In which case I wouldn’t bother going there.
To see my travel guides about other places in the UK click here.
JOHNNY SPANGLES - THE TIGHTFIST TRAVELLER 