At the age of 65, Fred retired, having worked all his life as a manual worker. Less than a year later, he suffered a minor stroke, and so moved into the Sunshine Sunflower Residential Home. It was a big place, with its own medical and catering facilities. The owner was a lady called Judith Strongbottom, who was a devout catholic, the hospital facility was run by a lady called Dr Meredith Simmons, and the kitchen was run by a West-Indian lady called Josie Jackson, a large lady who was loved by all. The day-to-day chief nurse/carer was a lady called Susan Bakewell, and she was the busiest and most depended-on member of staff there.
Fred was allocated a room on the first floor, and settled in reasonably well. He tended to keep himself to himself, but he was always happy to have “guests” round from the other rooms. Now, he noticed early on that in his “kitchen” cupboard (it wasn’t really a kitchen - just a sink and a kettle) there was a strange hole in the wall. It was ~4 cm in diameter, about a metre off the ground, and went into the wall diagonally downwards, as though someone had stuck a pole through to form it. He didn’t pay much attention to it, though he wondered where it led.
One day, he accidentally killed a rabbit, and in the spur of the moment, tried to flush the body down his toilet. It got stuck in the pipe, and blocked it good and proper. Fred was too ashamed to report what had happened to Susan, so he put the lid down and kept it secret. A few hours later, he needed “to go”, so he kept it in. Another hour passed, and his bladder was on the verge of exploding. Then he had an idea; he hurried into the kitchen, into the cupboard, and relieved himself into the hole. He was worried that he’d burn out a circuit or something, but nothing happened. He pissed into the hole again that night, and also the next morning. Half an hour before dinner that day, his bowels moved (as they did every day at that time) and so he took a deep breath and shat into the hole. Again, there were no apparent consequences. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years. Fred pissed and shat into the hole on a daily basis, hell the old sod even wanked into it a few times. He stuffed bits of rubbish down there too from time to time, such as banana skins and dead wasps. This practise became “the norm”, and the toilet was forgotten about.
After 15 years at Sunflowers, Fred was walking along the main corridor when he heard Josie talking with her grandson William, who was of primary school age. “Don’t touch dem strawberries” said Josie.
“Nanna, what’s that?” he asked.
“It’s a strainer, for de vegetables” she replied.
“And what’s that black circle on the ceiling above the big cooking pot for?”
“Whatcha talkin’ about, dere’s nuttin’ up dere.” She strained her eyes - “ah yes, dere’s a little hole or someting. Nuttin’ to worry about probably.”
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