Bogged down

The basics of life can be quite demanding at times. The very helpful Mr Cream Teas (aka the Environmental Health Officer) tells me that what is required are three women's loos, one unisex loo and a urinal. This clutch of temporary smelly habitats will satisfy the council for the charity (&) sheep shearing marathon and fun day I am helping to plan. What with the cream teas, hog and lamb roasts and alcohol on offer, plus the physical jiggling created by the pony rides, bucking bronco and bouncy castle, adequate facilities will be required.
Discussing bogs can be a bit of a downer when folks want to concentrate on how donations and fun quotient can be maximised. Then there is the formality of the Temporary Event Notice and contacting the police, getting insurance and all that jazz.
There will be lots of helpers. The local Young Farmers will be clearing out our friend's huge sheep shed so that all jollities will continue whether it continues to pour with rain or not; a local rugger team will be putting their muscular thighs and other bits to good use in one way or another; local companies are being asked to donate items for auction, and people will be flogging entry tickets and asking for sponsorship over the next few weeks leading up to The Big Day. There is a clay pigeon shoot to be coordinated and a marquee to be erected. The shearer is busy shearing across Devon and will be well warmed up by then. He is not in the first flush of youth, and has two artificial hips and a metal plate holding his thigh together. He aims to de-fleece 500 sheep in 24 hours, whilst all around him merriment and good humoured daftness urge him on.
Even with allowed breaks I suspect he will have a posture like Prince Charles at the stroke of midnight.