Hounded out of the toilet.
I was staying at the house of my Polish mate's parents and was intrigued by their giant deer hound - who only answered to commands in its owners' native language.
After a night of Tartan Army-class swally, I retired to bed - but awoke in the middle of the night in urgent need of the smallest room in the house.
Horror of horrors, the giant beast slept outside the toilet door. And it didn't like being disturbed.
I tried a few friendly words in English, but to no avail.
I then threw in "Warsaw", "Krakow" and "The Pope" in the hope it would recognise I was Polish friendly.
I should also point out that I was starkers - and the snarling dog's mouth was at the exact same height as my dangly bits.
At breakfast the following morning, the conversation went like this.
"Good sleep, Bob?"
"Did you need the toilet through the night?"
"Er . . . yes, actually."
"And did Tatra growl at you?"
"Funnily enough, he did."
"And did you pee out the bedroom window instead?"
"I'm afraid so, sir."
"Good man. Everyone else does."