Just thinking back to those days fills me with horror and my breathing begins to quicken, though I’m safe and sound and thirty odd years removed. Back then, when nature called, in more ways than one, I’d imagine myself on screen accompanied by a suitable soundtrack, say - the high-pitched ululations from Hitchcock's Psycho. With a tremulous hand on the door, the torch giving safe access - the light bulb already shining thanks to my father’s electrical ingenuity I would silently pray for strength. But the sudden brightness gave the creatures plenty of forewarning, they knew I was coming; they were waiting, laughing to themselves- if that’s at all possible. Perhaps the anticipation of my entrance was just as delectable as the act itself. I would gently open the door, eyes darting on lookout. Up, down, left, right, we're in - watch out! Look behind you, careful, up, down, left, right, coast is clear - lift the seat up!

Don’t look, don’t sit, just do it, no noise, if they are here do not do anything that might stir them from their slumber. Safe, this time I'm safe, now turn around, you can do it, put the seat down, quietly, softly.

More often than not, I would complete my spot check successfully, only then to spy one of the bastards just as I was leaving, it'd be spread eagle, just inches from the door handle, it wasn't there before, so where was it? Hiding? Watching? Waiting? Pervert. Then I’d make a dash for it, get out, get back inside, go! Go! But one of it’s many acquaintances would have seen the opportunity to terrify and seemingly faster than the speed of light, woven a large, intricate web between the two veranda posts, which I’d manage to run straight into and become as trapped as the tiny fly it set out to catch.

Aaagh! Help! Daddy!

Finally I left that house and never returned and though our loo is inside now I always keep the lid down and a plug firm in every plug hole, just in case.