Following Through

I fear that it another sign of encroaching age. I had another one of those unfortunate experiences the other evening. You know the sort - you think it is just wind, but it turns out to be the kind of wind which leaves a damp patch in your underpants. I wouldn't mind, but I hadn't even been drinking. Not really. As I'd been doing the driving, I'd been on bitter shandy all evening. So I can't blame the booze. Admittedly, I had had a bit of an upset stomach earlier in the week, but I thought that had subsided. Anyway, to cut a long story short, I'd got back home after dropping my friend back at her house, and was sitting in front of the TV in my underwear, flipping through the channels, as one does late at night, when I suddenly felt the urge to let one rip. As I was alone in the house I thought, what the hell? So I did. And it was a magnificent fart - one of those long low jobs - the note it makes sounds like something reverberating from a church organ pipe - you think is never going to end. But sadly it did. With a squelch.

Sadly, it wasn't just my underwear which was affected - the damp patch extended to the chair (that'll teach me to lounge around in my boxers). So, there I was in the middle of the night, not just forced to change my underpants, but also faced with the task of burning an armchair. Trust me, whilst this may seem like a drastic solution, it is far easier in the long run. Unlike underwear, you can't put the chair through the wash, and no matter how hard you scrub, the stain never really fades. Besides you know that it is there every time someone comes round and sits on that chair. Mind you, having a blazing armchair in your back garden in the small hours of the morning does take some explaining where the neighbours are concerned. In the end I just mumbled something about flea infestations as I hurried back inside to c all the fire brigade - the flames were getting dangerously close to the shed. So there you have it. I guess I've finally arrived at that age where I can no longer trust a fart. And I don't. Ever since the unfortunate 'incident' I've been holding my flatulence in until I can find somewhere I can safely drop my pants and trousers before letting go. It really is most inconvenient.