Over the last week I’ve had a ton of experience with long drops, as we call them in New Zealand. I’m not gonna lie, it goads me to write outhouse, but the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the me.
We’ve just been camping at Uretiti who’s name only supersedes the fictitious Waikikamukau in terms of amusement. I managed to burn my feet, but it’s nothing I haven’t endured before. Becky managed to gouge me with hedge clippers though when we got home. It’s ok, it’s merely a flesh wound and an abusive relationship.
The long-drops however were a constant source of inspiration, but I doubt I could make a full comic out of the one below.
There’s no formal end to the ritual.
So I improvise.