Sunday, 13 July 2008

The Wind cries Mary

Fart, trump, toot, cut-the-mustard, float the air-biscuit, guff, trouser-cough, a real bronx cheer (come on, didn't you have a whoopee cushion?)... whatever you call 'em, those windy-pops have been my tormentor for the last 5 years.

I grewup in a household where a mans windy emissions were his pride and joy. It was expected for them to be delivered with a triumphant fist clenched and a cheek proudly raised. But UC ended this. I will never forget that instant of crest-fallen realistation when an apparent moment of exaltation in front of my awe-struck audience (the kids) ended in a wide-legged dash to the loo. And since then each new fart is greeted as a potential imposter. Yes, I've been caught out but I've also developed one helluva sphincter...

Its sure had a work out this week. After the initial (clearly metally induced) bowel wobble I've settled into this probiotic diet. Just one a day, as they say in the ads. The main thing I've noticed is an increase in bloaty-ness. Which is weird because I'm sure those ads say that the friendly bacteria get rid of that. Maybe thats only the ladies - why are women the main targets for bifidus digestivum et al? Or, maybe, God forbid they're... lying! Anyway, bloaty-ness always sets me on fart-edge, so I've been walking round with a fully clenched sphincer all week. On the whole though, I've beem feeling pretty good (prednisolone effects aside). So much so I lulled myself into a false sense of security and risked a Thai green curry last night. Whoops. Hello toilet, my old friend...

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