Sandy Butts checked his watch as he stepped out of the office block. Quarter past five. Forty-five minutes to get home. Should be plenty of time, except for the familiar pressure building in his lower abdomen, a pressure that demanded the comfort of his own porcelain throne.

He'd made this mistake before. The office loos were perfectly serviceable, but Sandy was particular about these matters. His own bathroom, his own routine, his own sanctuary. Besides, he'd held it this long.

The bus was running twelve minutes late. Sandy shifted from foot to foot at the stop, feeling the first bead of sweat form on his forehead despite the cool evening air. He risked a quiet fart. Just gas, thank God. Never trust a fart, his mother used to say, but the relief was immediate.

When the number 47 finally wheezed to a stop, it was packed with the usual suspects heading home. Sandy squeezed through the doors and found himself wedged between a woman with shopping bags and a bloke reading the evening paper.

"Sandy! Blimey, haven't seen you in ages!"

Brian from his old job appeared beside him, grinning and completely oblivious to Sandy's predicament. Brian launched into work complaints whilst Sandy nodded politely, his mind entirely focused on the growing urgency below. The sweat was no longer just beading; his shirt felt damp against his back.

The bus crawled through evening traffic, stopping frequently. At one particularly lengthy stop, Sandy found himself staring through the window at a shop display. In the window sat a gleaming white toilet, positioned perfectly at his eye level.

Sandy stared at it with the longing of a desert wanderer spotting an oasis.

His stomach gurgled audibly, causing the woman next to him to glance over. He attempted a weak smile whilst his posture grew increasingly rigid. What had started as confident Sandy Butts, office professional, was becoming something resembling a penguin with medical issues.

Finally, his stop. Sandy mumbled goodbye to Brian and stepped off with careful precision. Three streets to go.

A scaffolding lorry blocked half the pavement. As Sandy squeezed past, he caught the eye of one of the workers, who nodded toward the clear path ahead.

"All sorted here, mate! You can get through!"

Sandy managed a tight smile and hurried on.

His walk had developed a distinctive waddle. Each step required tactical planning. Mrs Pemberton from next door spotted him at the junction and waved enthusiastically, clearly intent on a chat.

"Lovely evening, isn't it?" she chirped.

Sandy's stomach made an ominous sound. "Yes, lovely evening, Mrs P. Must dash though—dog needs walking."

She looked puzzled but waved him on. Sandy's clothes felt wringing wet with perspiration now. Two more streets. The pressure was becoming unbearable.

His front door came into view like a mirage. He fumbled for his keys, hands shaking. The keyring slipped from his sweaty fingers and clattered to the ground. Bending to pick them up sent a fresh wave of urgency through his system.

The key turned. The door opened. Victory was within reach.

And then Sniffers appeared.

His faithful dachshund immediately began his usual routine of weaving between Sandy's legs in elaborate figure-eights. What should have been a simple dash to the bathroom became an intricate dance.

"Not now, boy," Sandy gasped, taking tiny steps whilst Sniffers transformed the hallway into an obstacle course. Left foot forward, Sniffers weaves right. Right foot forward, Sniffers doubles back left. The dog sat down directly in Sandy's path and looked up adoringly.

Sandy performed a delicate step-over manoeuvre, his face beetroot red, sweat pouring down his temples.

Finally, the bathroom door. His ceramic sanctuary awaited.

Sandy's hands shook as he fumbled with his belt buckle. The leather was slick with sweat. The zip on his trousers caught halfway down. He tugged desperately, panic setting in as his body prepared for the inevitable.

In desperation, he grabbed the waistband and tore his trousers down just in time, collapsing onto the toilet seat with grateful relief.

The relief was immediate and overwhelming. Sandy sat there, panting and grinning, overwhelmed with the joy of making it to his own loo. The crisis was over. His gamble had paid off.

He looked to his left for the toilet roll.

The holder was empty.

Completely, utterly empty.

"NOOOOOOO!"

The sound echoed through the building and probably beyond. Then silence. A slightly unpleasant smell began to permeate the air.

Outside, life continued. Mrs Pemberton watered her garden. The scaffolders packed up their tools. Brian caught his connecting bus home, still chatting to anyone who'd listen.

Sniffers settled down in the hallway with a contented sigh, completely unaware of the epic that had just concluded.