So, back to the trip to Glasgow we did a few days ago...

We arrived back in the village at the same time as our latest load of Couchsurfers phoned They too had just arrived in the village -all six of them. Mother, Father and four kids. (They have five but they left one at the airport, or at home with the grandparents, or something.) We got them to our place, offered them a cup of coffee - they don't drink coffee - or tea..

Okay, calm slow breaths, I've got six Mormons in my kitchen - and I invited them in...

I make them Roobush tea (it's caffine free), we chit chat for a bit and then, suddenly with no warning, they all go to bed. In my living room. This is about ten o'clock, about three or four hours before I usually even think about sleep - even as an abstract concept. If you know the layout of my house you are thinking "Oh no!", or "Oh dear!", or something similar. If you don't know the layout of my house, let me explain:

Our house is a converted old single room school. You walk in through the front door into the kitchen in the centre of the building with stairs up to the bedrooms. A door in the Kitchen leads to the Living Room which occupies the end third of the building. In the far corner of the Living Room is another door which leads to the Bathroom containing - and here's the crunch - the only toilet in the house.

There are six people wearing strange underwear between me and the bog.

I send Mike a text, ' I have Mormons in my living room, I may need to pee at your place.'

I don't know what time Mormons get up when they aren't on holiday but he wasn't too horrified when I burst into his house the next morning yelling, "Hi Mike, I've come round for a crap!"

I have never been one for great toilet anxieties. I don't remember as a child being scared that some great poo monster was going to bite my bum and drag me into the sewers but the thought of sitting having my morning dump with the Waltons sitting the other side of the door was just too much. I just can't shit in front of an audience.