I was driving home this evening mentally composing numerous blog articles about my first day back on the course. About our fantastic new module Theory and Authorship. About our Reader-in-Residence who held a literary quiz after hours complete with wine and lime and chilli Pringles (amazing new food group that ought to be all we need to exist). About our guest speaker Linda Cracknell. About how I have changed as a reader. About how Sam Kelly was finally rude about an author, calling his latest work utter shite, and having the nous and professionalism to go as far as photocopying six pages from the novel which demonstrated a) same use of register in two characters, b) point of view errors c) excruciatingly bad and unrealistic dialogue used in place of narration and d) a spelling mistake. About the various talented people on my course, and about 1012 other things whirling round my head.

In a bid to lessen the aforementioned whirl, I parked my car round the corner from where I live and executed a quick one mile walk. This was partly to maintain the natural energy high received from being back on the course, but also to start my training for this, when I was…well there is no other way to say this, farted at. By a man. Who, holding on to a wall for support, went on tiptoe, stuck his ass out and let rip while his girlfriend laughed delightedly. I think she applauded at one point but she definitely congratulated him because I heard her adoring ‘well done’. Now I am not beyond laughing at bodily functions. The toilet scene in Dumb and Dumber – best bit in the movie. The horse that farted in Chewin’ The Fat – “Was that your horse?” – I laughed so hard I nearly farted. Unexpected fartage in social settings can leave me senseless with giggles. But forced fartage is just wrong. And why aren’t the perpetrators of forced fartage not driven out of civilised society? They could take men who spit in the street with them. And fuckers who drop litter. Why oh why am I not in charge?

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