The Crabbit's Experience With Flatulence

As you get older, you tend to notice things about the body that change. Some gradual and some just scarper like a roadrunner on acid.
Hair was gradual, for example. Woke up one morning, came out of the shower, looked at myself in the mirror, recovered from shock and thought to myself that I maybe going thin on top. Sure enough over the next year or so, my hair had retreated to the sides of the head as if by gravity.
One that really bothered me was the, seemingly, disappearance of my waistline. Went to bed one night with fine specimen of a waistline, woke up the next morning with a coastline. Now I tend to keep away from large bodies water now because influence them more than the moon these days. What is that all about?
However, most things I can live with, as they are just the by-products of time on the old carcass. There is one thing that really, really bothers me. One thing that catches you often unawares and seems to become more and more frequent as the body odometer keeps ticking on. A thing most embarrassing and can clear a room quicker than something that can clear a room very quickly.
Flatulence.
No matter what I eat or drink, inevitably it ends up with sounding its arrival and impeding exit. There’s neither rhyme nor reason to it. It tends to wait for the most inopportune moment and then……well, let’s just say that the sound could keep ships away from the shore on a foggy night and can rattle windows with its reverb.
Once upon a time, I could predict an event of the old wind. It was reassuring that after a curry I could exert with a wee bit of caution, especially with a hot one. Now, I seem to produce gas like a large industrial cooling tower without warning.
Embarrassing. That’s what it is.
One such incident was on a wee photography trip up towards Pitlochry, Scotland.
Got in the car after breakfast and set off up the road in glorious soft sunshine as you get early in the morning. As I neared Perth, I could see the mist still hanging on the hills and in the glens to north so I knew that there maybe a chance that I would need to wait for it to burn off when I reached north.
Sure enough, as I reached the by-pass around Pitlochry, the mist was still quick thick so I decided I would try go a wee further north and visit the Queen’s View: a beautiful viewpoint that overlooks Loch Tummel towards Rannoch and the peak of Shiehallion.
As drove on, my stomach made a couple of familiar noises which made me think that maybe Black Pudding, Eggs and Bacon was, probably, not quite the right thing to have for breakfast that day.
“Should have had porridge,” I said to myself.
Anyway, I reached the Queen’s View and the scene was quite lovely. The whole scene was covered in a cloud inversion with only the viewpoint and higher hills and peaks opposite visible. Not really much of a photo opportunity so I decided to wait for a while to see if the mist would lift a wee bit.
As time went by, some more folk started to arrive so I made sure that I set up in the optimum place for the shot I wanted. All the while, my stomach made a couple of more faint noises, which should have signalled to me that something was afoot but chose to ignore it.
After about hour or so, the mist was thinning out and by that time, quite a crowd had formed to get a good look at the emerging view that was opening up before them.
I looked through the viewfinder to check everything was ok for the shot and then realised, to my panic that I had the wrong lens on. So quickly I took the camera off the tripod and went to bend down to change the lens when it happened.
The effort of me bending over was the tipping point.
The sound was immense. It seemed to reverb and echo through the trees and off the hills. Birds stopped singing. The air was still (apart from around me that is). A deer in a far off field stopped foraging and looked about with ears alert. Cattle even looked at each other as if to say, “Was that you?”
So there was me, in an exposed stance, looking down at my camera bag knowing that I had now attracted an audience. What do you do? Do you bluff your way out of it? Carry on as if nothing was amiss? Make a fart joke to break the tension, so to speak? Blame the dog? Blame someone near you in the absence of the, said, dog? All sorts went through my mind.
As it happened, events moved on without the need to for my intervention, which would have, probably, made things worse.
The smell.
It was a smell most heinous. I was nearly going to look for a corpse to take the edge of it. I was sure that I had single-handedly damaged the ozone layer in one foul biohazard attack. It was that bad.
I clicked the other lens into place and stood up. Around me, I heard moans and mutterings of displeasure with the faint shuffling of shoes and walking boots. I was going to blame the Black Pudding and Eggs that I had for breakfast but there was no need.
I found myself alone again and free to take photos whenever I wanted along the railings. So really it all turned out fine.
However, the photos were rubbish though. Karma!

Moral of the story is that when you get older, there is not enough room for wind, photography and other people – something has got to give!

The Crabbit's Experience With Flatulence

Crabbit Old Git

Joined December 2009

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Artist's Description

This is a wee short piece of writing in the view of a Crabbit and it’s own reasoning

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