Saturday morning on Combwich shed, as ‘248 simmers next to the water tower. Over by the signalbox, linesmen Monty and Don are having a discussion about home-grown spring onions before discussing the state of the loo, which today is in an even more perilous state than normal.
The reason being that at the local Wheeltappers & Shunters Club last night it was the annual pickled winkles championship, the winner imbibing the greatest volume washed down by pints of entire stout and moonshine chasers. The loo here being on the unofficial route back into Combwich from the club, for the effects of imbibing such a mix tends to manifest with 25 minutes of consumption and always after the club shuts.
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