An amusing thing happened on the tube this evening on my way home. Not only did the token weirdo, as per usual, come and sit right next to me, but he also strove to deliberately raise his left cheek (as in a*se, you can see where this is going, yes?) during the journey and fart, quite loudly, in my direction.
But no, I do not think it was deliberately aimed at me. Nor do I believe it was a case of an undercover agent from the paranoid former employer trying to undermine my serene state in light of final settlement being agreed and signed off.
Monsieur Le Gas was, after all, some 80+ years old and rather doddery, complete with hearing aid, walking stick, old-person-style overcoat (the one that is so stiff it stands up by itself when you take it off and smells deliciously of mothballs) and trousers that you just know are being held up by a piece of string. Possibly on day release from the nursing home. And he had lots of hair sprouting from various orifices which would have amused Blossom no end.
Of course, in true British fashion I deigned to ignore the episode, although stifling a fit of giggles when a) the two blokes on the other side of the carriage were killing themselves laughing whilst trying to keep straight faces, and b) I was reading a very funny paragraph in my book*, was no mean feat.
And all I could then think of was what The Bloggess would have made of this as I wrote a fart-related comment on this recent post of hers.
Hey Jenny, are you reading this? Let me know, ok?
Oh, yes, and btw, the blog is back in the public forum.
Just in case you had not noticed.
* Allison Pearson's 'I don't know how she does it' where the character is ranting about a late delivery and the call centre guy is seeking help from a colleague with the phrase "Whatmygonnatella?". Sounds like a venereal disease.