“Oi, are you taking the piss!?” He yelled over the bar.
“Er, no..” I said flushing, stopping in the middle of the pub, between the door and the gents, fearing I had been rumbled I desperately tried to bluff my way through ” .. just going for one!”
“I can see that mate”, the barman said, an ugly tone in his voice, “I can fucking see that, like I said, are you taking the piss”
“No, I, I don’t know what you mean” I blustered, feeling the bulge of the litre bottle beneath my jacket, the rubber tubing and handpump bulging in my pocket, “I mean, er, I, just…”
“You people make me sick!” He carried on, my heart lurched into my mouth, I had been caught in the act, “Coming in here, using the toilets, not even buying a drink, this is not a public convenience you know!”
“Oh” I said, going weak with relief, “no, it’s not like that, I’m buying a drink in a minute, just needed a pee first”
“Well,” he said gruffly, “that’s all right then, get a lot of people in here to use the facilities”

I had a quick pee and a half of bitter and scarpered. One of these days I will get caught taking the piss, and then I will really be in bother…