Wind Of Change

I think the thing that is going to best sum up this Christmas season is flatulence.

For some reason, since Christmas Day, I have been unable to stop farting. I’m not constantly doing it, I should point out. I’m not now some sort of air-powered human, skimming across the surface of the ground purely with jet propulsion.

I’m just farting.

A lot.

Sprouts have been consumed, yes. But they were days ago. We are way past that now. We are into uncharted windy territory.

And what makes it worse is that it’s next door to impossible for me to a) fart quietly or b) fart without generating a smell which could kill another human.

I just don’t know what’s happening.

We’re putting it down to a hither-to unknown side-effect of cold and flu capsules. It’s never happened before, but lets just say that is what has befallen me now. I mean, I’ve only taken two tablets each day for the past few days and generally slept the rest of my cold away but still, those two tablets surely must pack a flatulatory punch.

And if it’s not them… I mean, what could it be?

It can’t be related in any way, shape or form to the piles of food that we are enjoying at the moment. I’m sure that’s not it. It’s pretty much got to be the flu tablets. It can’t be the nuts, or the fruit cake or anything else laden with fruits, fibre and windy-pops that the Christmas season bestows upon us.

Although I’m fairly sure that it’s never struck me like this before. That I have never considered myself to be a toxic hazard to all those around me.

Maybe I’ve reached that age that you get to when you just can’t not fart. That’s a thing, surely. Can’t stop farting, fleeces with wolves on, inability to know when it’s 9.30 so you can try and con free bus trips… they are three of the seven signs of aging.

I apologise to anyone down-wind of me this festive period.