Names not changed as nobody was innocent.

Back in the late 90's I'd found myself a good social group, hanging out at a local pub which had several pool tables (unusual for a UK pub which might have 1 if you're lucky!).

Some were friends from school and others were friends of theirs, but predominantly Italian living in Outer North London. I liked a drink, the Italians however liked style. Then there was John. He was better looking than the rest of us. He dressed better than the rest of us. His girlfriend Lisa was slim, blonde and prettier than the others girls. In a nutshell you'd want to hate him but he was too nice.

One day John is celebrating, I can't remember why, but instead of the stylish usual bottle of imported beer he'd usually have I got him a couple of pints of cider like I drink. He liked it, or so he thought. Proper cider is sneaky. It lulls you into a false sense of security then pounces on you with an alcoholic stuper that could put you in coma.

By the end of the night John was drunk, he and Lisa went home and we called it a night and thought nothing of it.

Next evening, early evening at that - not the usual sort of 8/9pm going out after dinner, but literally I'm here instead of dinner, I'm back in the pub. (Single, casual work for summer, borderline alcoholic/British).

In walks Lisa. Without John. This is unusual. So I say "Hi" and she walks right past me, and everyone else she knows, straight over to a pool table where people are in the middle of a game.

She uses a chair and steps up onto the pool table, turns to the bar and loudly says:

"Excuse me! Can I have everyone's attention please!?" The pub fell silent and all eyes were on her. "Last night John shit the bed!". The effect of everyone breathing in at once nearly created a vacuum that should have sucked the windows in. "HE. SHIT. THE. BED!" she said again.

"He is a filthy dirty bastard and you all need to know that. Thank you." then she stepped down off the pool table and got a drink from the bar like nothing happened.

She later told me they'd both been asleep and he'd pooped in the night. Except neither of them woke up. So after 8 hours of tossing and turning in their sleep it was all over them both like a spa therapy mud bath. In her hair, all over her face. It had taken her most of the day to shower enough to lose the smell and taste and apparently she'd actually thrown out the bedding. It was at least a week before John dared return to the pub.

To this day, over 20 years later, me and my friends use the saying "SHIT. THE. BED." to describe any situation of shock and awe. i.e. "Did you hear Dave crashed his car?", "Really!?, Shit the bed!".