Unfortunately for me travel has sort of become synonymous with shitting myself; a month participating and partying at the Edinburgh Fringe earned me the nick-name ‘pooper trooper’, a jaunt to Tenerife had me planning an arse-clenching escape route should my bowls run a wry on a booze cruise, and too much smoked salmon for breakfast in South Korea resulted in some rather unruly digestive movements.  Now we all know, shit happens, especially when travelling, so why choose to inflict this involuntary intestinal terror upon myself willingly.

Now I’m not talking about travellers’ diarrhoea, food poisoning or even saturating my gut with cheap peach schnapps, I’m talking about the time I crapped my pants (thankfully in this case only in the figurative sense) on a high wire adventure course in Italy called Adrenaline Zone. Continue reading →