There are other Greg incidents that are entirely plausible given Greg's affinity with the strange and lavitorial. Alas mostly unprintable. One however is just about decent and will give a flavor of Greg's many incidents:
As I have previously noted Greg likes to live cheap. I have no doubt the 1910 act of parliament regulating the state of repair of rented property law was set up to deal with houses like Greg's. However the Royal writ was never taken seriously in Walthamstow. The attempts of the British central government to level these properties over the intervening 87 years have met with little success. Indeed, we have the German government and the Luftwaffer to thank for the modest improvements in the architecture that have occurred there.
It was during a visit to 'me ol mate' that he related this incident. Even in Walthamstow certain rules of etiquette have to be observed. So I waited till we had cracked a beer and sat down before I alluded obliquely to the 4 foot hole in the ceiling. Greg shrugged this off. "It's always happening" he muttered. Apparently the landlord always fixed the ceiling rather than roof, which continues to leak. Actually Greg seemed more interested in explaining the building techniques of the late eighteen hundreds which were so vividly exposed. Looking at the hole and pile of lath and plaster on the floor I could see why Greg was not too concerned. After all it had much in common with the rest of the decor. Besides, he apparently had taken a shine to the girl in the adjacent flat and would not countenance moving.
But I digress. Later at the Indian restaurant over a nice hot Vindaloo I was encouraging Greg to improve his accommodation. He did grudgingly allow me that the facilities were rather lacking. Apparently one night after a curry and a few beers at the Slaughterhouse Arms Greg returned to his abode and, having inspected the ceiling for signs imminent structural failure, went to bed. Shortly afterwards however he realized there was a pressing need to visit the "bathroom" as we Americans say. However there was just one shared facility and Greg had pranced down the stairs in shirt tails and Y fronts before discovering that it had a long term resident. Girding his loins grimly he raced back up the freezing stairs with the single minded intent to utilize a gentleman's last resort: the sink. Alas when he got there he remembered; Not only had the sink been blocked for some days but it was full of a week's dirty dishes.
At this point he was no doubt somewhat perturbed. But Greg has years of experience with this sort of situation, and desperation is of course the true mother of invention. Hence with a cry of triumph (and relief) Greg pranced towards the sash window and the watery stream was lost into the night.
Now for most of us that would be the end of it. But this is Greg we are talking about here. As it turns out a corrugated iron tool shed positioned below a first floor window makes a lot of noise when rained upon. The noise, plus the screams of delight, brought his lady neighbor to the window. One can only imagine the spectacle that greeted her. I.e. Greg, proffering his glands penis from a first floor window. This apparently wasn't the kind of moonlight serenading the young lady appreciated. She gave Greg the withering look of horror, disgust and pity that he so frequently gets from women. At least Greg had the presence of mind to make a back flip at this point, doubtless he didn't relish explaining the incident to the Walthamstow Constabulary who have a fine discrimination for anything vaguely perverted.
I mopped my brow as the Vindaloo began to enter my blood stream. "Greg, (boy this Vindaloo) after careful consideration, over a number of years, I am concluding that you are a total pratt !".
Greg of course beamed appreciatively.
Written 11/27/97.