Days Without Alcohol 93.
I have been eating porridge pretty much every morning for breakfast for about four years (not like some Johnny-Come-Latelys like Emma Kennedy who has recently started going on about her conversion to milky oats). I can not recommend it highly enough as a great start to the day. It fills you up til lunchtime and if you add nuts and berries (and honey if you are a weak child) then it is actually quite a luxurious treat. Use skimmed milk and it's only 250 calories (don't forget to add on the calories for any extras though - I have 100 calories of grapes and blueberries at the moment. It is sheer bliss).
Last week though I took a chance on something different and went for Sainsbury's Porridge Oats with Bran. It sounded super-healthy and I was interested to see what the effects of the additional bran might be. Well this week I have most surely found out, along with anyone unlucky enough to be within a two foot radius of me for any protracted period of time. It has made me prodigiously and almost impressively flatulent. Worse still the emissions I am exuding are some of the most potent gaseous creations ever known to man. I think if you could collect a large enough quantity of the noxious vapour (and believe me, I am probably producing enough on a daily basis) then you could probably use it in warfare. It might not kill anyone, but they would certainly want to get off the battlefield as soon as humanly possible. You know it's a bad fart if you yourself don't like the smell. Though there is still a part of me that enjoys the aroma, though how much of that is down to impressing myself with the superhuman ability to create something so awful is open to question.
No, I still just about like the farts, but their potency is frightening. Even the strongest breeze seems unable to dissipate the offending air biscuits and they cling to me for what seems like hours. So I can't subtly drop one and then sidle away leaving someone else to take the blame. Like Pigpen in Peanuts I am forever surrounded by a cloud of the stuff. This really is weapons grade stuff and it will also leave a significant presence in the place of the original indiscretion. I can fart in a room, leave for a couple of hours and then when I come back, the stale fart is still hanging around like a drunken guest at a long finished dinner party. Thank God I live Perhaps this is why I live alone.
I am not even half way through the bag of bran porridge and much too mean to throw it away, so if you see me in the next month you are probably best to keep your distance. Especially if I am working out at the gym where all the jiggling about makes it very difficult for me to control myself. It's one way of making sure no-one gets on the machine next to me.
Porridge is good. Bran porridge is evil. I have probably done more to damage the ozone layer this week than all the cows in Britain combined.
And still despite the terrible shame I should feel, the overarching emotion I have is pride. These guffs may be the biggest achievement of my life. They hang around for so much time that they might prove to be my longest lasting legacy. I hope in a 100 years time the futuristic occupants of my house might walk into the lounge, breath in, pull a disgruntled face and then whisper my name in a mixture of anger and deep, deep respect.
