A Bit About Poo

Sometimes a Monday morning demands a poo post and not one that involves Christopher Robin and Eeyore.

There are many different types of poo in the world. We all know them and probably have different labels for them. For example the McPoo, the field salesperson's favourite, probably doesn't exist as much in Sri Lanka as it does in England purely because there are less MacDonalds around there.

In case you hadn't realised a McPoo is when you're out on the road and the need takes you. You dash into a MacDonalds and head straight for the toilet, without buying anything, not even a Big Mac. Then you're done and you leave, simple as that. No fries, no burger and no apple pie.

But the international gold standard of poos, the one that must be everyone's favourite, has got to be the ghost.

And I had a spectacularly good one the other day, which has prompted this post.

A ghost, aaah, just the thought makes me feel all warm and fuzzy.

What is a ghost?

It's when you sit down on the old porcelain, you strain for a couple of seconds, just pleasant straining, not serious weight lifter straining or anything, then "voodoom" and out it flies. On rare occasions there might be another strain and another "voodoom" but there are never more than two.

Then you look down into the pan and see no evidence whatsoever of the log. It's gone, whisked away like it never even happened. Yet you know something big, something satisfying came out. You heard it, you felt it and you may have smelt it.

The arsewiping adds to the experience and is vital in the judging process. One sheet of paper is all that's needed and it's only needed to prove that there's no residue. You wipe and there's no residue at all, no mess, no stickiness and nothing visible at all. A ghost isn't a ghost if you see smearing or have to go onto another wipe.

A true ghost happens in a flash, or in a "voodoom". It's gone, there's nothing to show, just immense satisfaction and the knowledge that you've had the perfect poo. For a few seconds you scratch your head with a "did that really happen?" feeling. Then you know it was a ghost and you get on with life.

That my friends is what a ghost is. Everyone's old favourite.

Have a great week.

Next week....the clingon - everyone's worst poo.