Hi. Hello. Hello. I'm going to cook us off with an embarrassing story and the subject

of this email is LogiLog. LogiLog, which only means one thing. Yes. Piss. No log. Oh,

logi. I know what this is. I know what this is. I know what this is. Hi. This woman we met

her at the live show and she said she had a really embarrassing story. She'd always been

too scared to tell any body and she decided that she was so boyd by the bravery of everybody

else at the show. She said she'd write it. She was writing and now she's done it. Okay.

I'm excited. We'll know because the subject line will say log. Okay. I'm really excited.

I haven't read it. Okay. Hey, Emma Alex. Okay. And then he just said her name. No, I'm

really pleased. I didn't ask. I remember this girl. And here's your most embarrassing story

ever. And here's your name and address. Hey, Emma Alex. Okay. So I wrote this on the train

home from the live show, buckle up for my most embarrassing poo-related story. My boyfriend

used to live in a flat alone, which was on a very long road with an Indian restaurant

at the end and I had a spare key. One day I went for a curry with my friend and as I came

out, I thought, oh, that's gone straight through me. I knew my boyfriend was out for another

couple of hours and I had the spare key. So I thought I'd pop in for a sneaky poo, a dump

and run, if you will. Or so I thought. Unfortunately, I blocked the toilet. I'm talking four flushes

and it refused to go down when I wasn't even meant to be there. I was sweating with panic

that he would come home any minute to this and had to go to great lengths to make the

what can only be described as ginormous poo go away. Okay. Details of how I did it. I simply

cannot divulge my own dignity. I did eventually manage it and left the bathroom squeaky clean

feeling quite pleased to myself to aside to a sidestep what could have been a very embarrassing

welcome home greeting. Yes. Skip to three days later, we've been out drinking and when

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