Munching through a steak and mushroom pie, a pint in one hand and a pen on the other, it doesn't seem so bad now and I've calmed down a bit. Everything is right with the world when you have a pie and a pint as companions.
I'll set the scene for you. Crowded commuter train on its way out of London. Packed with disgruntled commuters who have once again had their days ruined by the worst public transport system in Europe. Someone farts, a silent, potent, corrosive cloud of poisonous gas fills the carriage, helped to no end by the air conditioning system.
Seriously, who farts on a crowded train? Ruling out kids and elderly folk as there were none on board, one commuter must have broken the most golden of golden rules. YOU JUST DON'T FART. The trains are bad enough as it is, the last thing we need is for someone to let rip with all the gusto of a greedy piglet that has gorged itself on its mother's milk, and is now rolling around polluting the farmyard, angering the chickens and upsetting the geese.
OK, I ran away with that one, my literary flow has clearly been stunted by the stench. Either that or I'm just as mad as a coot.
There is nothing worse than a killer fart on a crowded train. Actually, splash back from a urinal minutes before an important meeting is worse, but that's a tale for another day.
It really was potent, permeating my brain and corroding my synapses with the precision of a master surgeon performing keyhole surgery on a stick insect. Passengers throughout the carriage were fanning themselves, shaking their heads in disbelief. One gentleman had pulled his coat over his face in an attempt to block out the fumes. There was an overwhelming sense of collective annoyance.
You would normally attribute such a smell to a flock of flatulent sheep, or a tribe of guffing Visigoths. I could see neither on the train. It is entirely possible that the Visigoths were disguised as London bankers, or the flock of sheep were hidden in the luggage rack, but I was unable to spot either.
Chances are some poor soul just ate too many dried apricots.
Wednesday, 18 February 2009
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9 comments:
Hey! You're attacking two things precious to me here.
Firstly, as a coot, I resent the 'mad' label. Silly yes, old yes, mad no.
And apricots. Too many may make for a runny day but fart? No no no.
Anyway, glad it was your carriage and not mine.
Isn't it usually the guy with the most serene and contented look on his face?
and re: the WW post (yesterday? is it yesterday for you already?) anyhow, beer is a necessary piece of equipment for all watersports around here (frightening when motors are also involved)...and the beer rep from my drunken trolley cart race story?...Carlings guy! Cosmic, i know ;)
OMG, this had me crying! Not like you were, from the fumes, but from laughing. THANK YOU!
My daughter learned the hard way that it doesn't pay to be very short on the train during rush hour... she's at butt level... and she's also NOT quiet. She's the sort of kid who calls out, "Oh Mommy! Someone FARTED!" It made an entire train car laugh (except, maybe for the ass who did it!).
Oh, man, I'm with you!
We were once on a flight from Atlanta to LAX and somebody farted - a silent-but-deadly one. And they kept farting the entire flight!!
You could see people kind of looking around at each other with suspicion, trying to figure out whether to glare or shrug imploringly.
Five hours!!!
Only thing worse about it happening in a plane instead of a train is you can't open the windows.
This played like a scene in a movie in my head. A pie and a pint. A passanger pulling his jacket over his face.
Do you write on a laptop? Cause it read like you were writing it there as it rolled out.
God, I am so immature! I'm howling at this post! Honestly, people are pigs!
Sorry. That was hilarious!
I bet the offender was the guy who covered his face with his coat, which would serving two purposes:
1. trying to look like he was not the offender, according to age old knowledge: the biggest finger pointer is usually the guilty party.
2. hiding his pink shameful face.
Good luck recuperating those gas-marinated olfactories.
Another great post! I laughed so hard, I had tears rolling down my eyes. My husband fed up with my incessant giggling asked "just what are you laughing at?" "Farts!" I reply..he walked away rolling his eyes unimpressed with my juvenility. Thanks again...for yet another hearty laugh.
And? J Cosmo Newbery's comment is hilarious...I love that "Silly yes, old yes, mad no"
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