President Piles

Going back some 30 or so years on a sports tour, an event happened that will be embedded in the memory of an unlucky chambermaid forever. It occured in the picturesque west country, on a beautiful morning in July time, or so i've been informed. The touring rooms were allocated via a hat draw, so as to mingle the people as one, and unless you hated somebody, then you just rode what you were dealt. This selection policy landed the clubs young hotshot player, aged about 18, and two elderly gentlemen, together. One was a standard older man, with greying hair, good sense of humour and an eye for detail. The other was far from standard. He was the club president, and his nickname 'The Colonel', was no fluke. He had a large white handlebar mustache, which was kept in Craig David style meticulous nature. He was over six feet, glistening white hair, and simply carried himself like a colonel. Spoke as though he were a colonel, walked as though he were a colonel etc.
On this fine morning after breakfast, the three men went back to their room to pack for the days game. Whilst the youngster and the 'standard' older man remained clothed, the colonel was undressing himself to the complete buff. "What's going on here?" Ushered the young hotshot. "I need to apply the cream for my piles", replied the colonel. The other two sniggered, whilst the colonel placed one leg up on the table in the centre of the room, with his rear end facing the door. Totally starkers. The only thing he had on was the radio. He flexed his fingers to begin application, just as there was a knocking at the door. The two others could immediately sense a great stitching opportunity, but to another colleague it might not be that amusing they thought. The colonel was motionless with shock, as though somebody had hit pause on the remote. The silence was broken as the young hotshot bit the bullet. "Come in" he bellowed. The colonel went blue and faced the other direction, still one hand at bourneville. The chambermaid entered with three fresh towels. She dropped the towels and screached, saw the handlebar sides from behind the head and the other two laughing and fled the scene.
The colonel never forgave the youngster, and there were some awkward silences for the rest of the week, particularly when the colonel was passing any members of staff.