GrannyNW, that's brilliant. I laughed until the tears streamed.
My late father was a world-class farter and I remember the Christmas Eve when we were visiting Edinburgh. Following a huge dinner which included Brussel sprouts and much red wine, he insisted that we all go to midnight service in the local church. A few carols were cheerfully sung then the vicar began a rather tedious sermon and father fell asleep. Waking just as the vicar was winding to a conclusion, father called out, "ah, you call that a sermon? That's namby pamby rubbish! We want fire and brimstone, Vicar. Fire and brimstone!" And, as he finished speaking, he let rip the loudest fart I ever heard. There was stunned silence in church except for this whopper echoing off the hammer beams and rattling the altar brassware ... as a terrible reek of sulphur wafted through the air.
At the end, he enthusiastically shook hands with the vicar, wished him a happy Christmas and demanded to know why OH and I were shuffling from foot to foot and added, "my daughter's embarrassed, Vicar. Such a shame she farts so much...."
It's a good job I loved him or I might have committed murder right there in the church porch!
