Poogate: The hilarious tale of a badly timed poo

This is the hilarious tale of a badly timed poo. (Turn away now if you are of a squeamish disposition.)

Poogate: You have to see the funny side

It so happened that as we embarked upon our school hols tour, we discovered a non-functional front headlight. Illegal and dangerous, we booked into the first car service dealership not more than an hour away from home. It was to be our first port of call.

As we neared the pit stop, Natty called out from her back seat throne "I've got headache in my tummy."
Her  clever way of saying tummy ache. 
"We're nearly there darling."
"No, headache in my tummy. I need a poo poo."

That's one phrase we NEVER argue with. Natty is reliably dry and clean by day, but there are always exceptions to the rule.

We swerved into the nearest supermarket carpark. Natty and I skipped into the sadly past-their-best public toilets together. Alas the poorly tummy had already made its presence known, ever so slightly. Nothing more was forthcoming as she sat on the tired toilet seat, with me urging 'Don't touch anything darling, DIIIRty..." 

Not a disaster, but enough to warrant scurrying back to the car with the offending underpants in a bundle of tissue in my hand, and  to necessitate a furtle around in the boot of the car to find a replacement. 

A quick back seat change and we were off. Next stop, headlight heaven.

We arrived at the car showroom, all gleaming chrome, glass and metallic paint. We ushered our bright, chirpy, stand-out-from-the-usual family through the gleaming showroom, disuading Natty from touching the pristine bodywork of the 'really-brand-new-very-nice-cars-indeed'. Up the glass and shiny steel staircase we went, to reach the hospitality area, thankfully not too busy, save for a very smartly-dressed lady of a certain age, all colour co-ordinated cashmere and a freshly blow-dried blonde bob.

CBeebies was found on the plasma TV and hot chocolates were concocted from the refreshment station. Natty and big sis settled in the leather armchairs to watch Mr Tumble and sip their beverages.  I relaxed a little. Daddy Downs Side Up took this calm, gentle moment as a cue to potter off and drool over nice motors. 


Oh heck.

Swiftly I glided in, amber alert. Nose confirmed situation. In fact nose elevated situation to red alert.
Deft tap of bottom revealed soak-through. Nothing between that and tan leather furniture.


All in one second, while smiling politely at the lady, I gathered Natty up and swooped her to the nearby WC, instructing Mia to stay put and watch TV.

Once in the loos, (thankfully this time as clean as the one at home) I realised we were in deep poo, so to speak. Poo everywhere, vest, trousers, socks, you know the drill. Spare clothes in the car, the car that was by now winched high in a workshop somewhere far from the toilet cubicle. Hubby eyeing up a sporty number. Mia was too young to go for help. Not good.

I hung my head out of the door and flagged down a pretty young lady in a pencil skirt and a name badge. 
"Could you help me track down my husband please? We've had a ... er... bit of an accident..."

That look, the one that comes from a yet-to-be-a-parent.
"Oh yes, what is he wearing?"

"I dont know. I can't remember, (look, I am desperately trying to minimise the spread of poo here) but he has very little hair and is looking at cars. (that narrowed it down then!) I need wet wipes and a change of clothing. Now. (Large smile) "

She scurried off. 
Hubby arrived tout suite. (Seems like there's nothing like poo to  put a rocket up people.)

He took over the manning of the by now impenetrably stinky loo, and the daubing at a small person's bottom with scratchy toilet paper that doesn't actually clean anything off at all. I was now in sole control of sorting out PooGate.

I looked the helpful lady in the eyes, once outside.  
"I need to get a change of clothes and wet wipes out of the boot of my car. So sorry."

"No problem, I'll take you to the service desk."

I followed, back down the shiny staircase, checking Mia was still safely enjoying sweet warm beverages, in the company of the Mrs Perfect who was undoubtedly determining to bring her car to a posher, more child-free, poo-clear zone for the next service.  I'm not one to worry what others think, but this quiet everything-has-been-considered environment was making me feel uncomfortable. 

I was introduced to the jolly service manager. I assumed he'd been briefed (no pun intended).
"I'm sorry but I need to get some things out of the boot of my car. There's been a bottom explosion."

Silence and a polite smile. 
Oppps, clearly he hadn't been briefed...

"Err, my daughter not me, ha (nervous smile). "

"Of course." 

Then the smile of a man who was clearly a father, and probably a very good one, although I sensed his days of embarrassing poo incidents were way behind him. 
Perhaps he remembered with a certain amount of nostalgia? Will I ever look back at these incidents with fondness?

He took me through to the service area, where rows of shiny cars were lined up, jacked high being tended to by smily men in clean overalls. Mine was the only mud-soaked one there. A metaphor for this moment I guess.

It's medics stopped to smile at my gushing tale of Natty's poo accident and rushed apologies at having to obtain early access to the contents of the car. 
Wipes and clean togs were swiftly found and I returned to the scene of the crime. 2 minutes later all was well.

The clearly-a-dad even popped by, unprompted, with a "sealable bag for smell, and a paper bag for discretion". Some people really are so thoughtful. (Or maybe he was simply considering the sensibilities of the blonde lady, protecting his cutomer base so to speak.)

When all was said and done, we slipped back into our leather seats to watch the tail end of Mr Tumble.
I sheepishly glanced at the other customer, wondering if she had noticed our subtle clean-up, hoping she hadn't been too disgusted by any escapee odours. 

She simply smiled a warm smile and said "I've been there. Three times." 

You see... nothing to worry about after all.


  1. Ohhh, I am alternating laughing out loud with sympathetic head nods. We've all been there (albeit not in a posh car showroom...) and it never ceases to be mortifying does it?! Loving the clearly-a-dad man - what a star.

    1. Yes, we've all been there I guess, but it always takes us by surprise :/

  2. The worst poogate we've ever had was when we'd been waiting for about an hour for the Fantalusion parade at Disneyland Paris. Just as the music started, and the excitement was heavy in the air my son announced at the top of his voice 'Mummy poo!' With a sneaky sniff I realised that it was already too late! We were in the fenced off area reserved for disabled Mickey Mouse fans and we had to ask to be let out. They said we couldn't leave until I explained the situation. They then escorted us down the centre of the street with hundreds of people watching to show us to the nearest toilet! My youngest son was completely mortified as he thought everyone knew where we were going and why! The people waiting must've been very disappointed that the parade began with a family pushing an unlit 3 wheel pram!

    We thankfully managed to clean him up in a very cramped and dirty toilet and still get out to catch the parade!

  3. Lovely tale especially that last bit.
    Men do have a habit of disappearing at the most inconvenient moments in my experience.
    Well done for handling poo gate and living to tell the tale on your blog.

  4. Ah bless Natty! I'm sat here with a smile on my face at the last line, so much more reassuring when someone points out they're a parent too. The Boy has only once had me in a poo-nami situation when he was three months old and I had to lay him in the big bath on his bath support and shower him off, fully dressed! It was that bad!

    Popping over from Britmums Best Post of the Week linky

  5. Brilliant tale!

    You know today I bought nappies again after two years - nothing untoward I have my 10 month old grandson visiting (with his parents of course) on Weds for a week and I thought I'd lessen their luggage load so we can fit more toys in going back ;)

  6. Definitely brought a smile to my face, a brilliantly told story which has happened similarly to many of us I'm sure. I'm sure you handled it all in your usual calm manner :)


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