When the alarm goes off at 5:20 am, I shuffle out of the bedroom closing the door behind me so I don’t disturb the still slumbering Scotto.
The two small dogs follow me out, I let the big dogs out of their cosy beddings in the laundry and we all perform our morning ablutions in a musical unison.
Then I make a coffee and sit and watch the sunrise over the Gold Coast. I then immediately make another two cups of coffee, give all the dogs their treats and return to the bedroom to deliver Little Lord Fauntleroy his morning cup of coffee.
This morning, as I re-entered the bedroom I was bowled over with the stench of a thousand Turkish men who had seemingly simultaneously farted in an asphixiating steam bath located in my bedroom.
I plonked Scotto’s coffee down and exclaimed quite loudly for the time of morning, “What the hell? It smells like a thousand Turkish men farted in here!”
(I don’t know why I picked on Turkish men)*
Scotto merely reached blindly for his coffee and ignored my exclamation with a grunt.
I have drawn a few conclusions to solve the enigma of the mother of all methane bombs.
1. All four of us: the two dogs, Scotto and I, spend all night passing wind during the night creating an abominable cloud of sulphur/methane fumes which could be a deadly and injurious fire hazard if one of us smoked cigarettes.
2. The septic toilet in the ensuite is emitting fumes during the night generating an apocalyptic death gas.
3. Scotto farts his head off when I leave the bedroom to have my morning coffee because he thinks I won’t notice.
I thought about it all day at work and queried Scotto again tonight in order to investigate the source of this vile entity.
“Do you just fart your head off when I leave the bedroom in the morning because you think I won't hear you?” I asked gently.
He looked very sheepish but denied any guilt in regards to my subtle accusations.
But I’m highly suspicious. I’m putting Gladwrap over the toilet bowl to cancel out the possibility of the septic tank stinking.
Tomorrow night, I will Gladwrap the dogs’ bums.
After that… who knows.
This morning, as I re-entered the bedroom I was bowled over with the stench of a thousand Turkish men who had seemingly simultaneously farted in an asphixiating steam bath located in my bedroom.
I plonked Scotto’s coffee down and exclaimed quite loudly for the time of morning, “What the hell? It smells like a thousand Turkish men farted in here!”
(I don’t know why I picked on Turkish men)*
Scotto merely reached blindly for his coffee and ignored my exclamation with a grunt.
I have drawn a few conclusions to solve the enigma of the mother of all methane bombs.
1. All four of us: the two dogs, Scotto and I, spend all night passing wind during the night creating an abominable cloud of sulphur/methane fumes which could be a deadly and injurious fire hazard if one of us smoked cigarettes.
2. The septic toilet in the ensuite is emitting fumes during the night generating an apocalyptic death gas.
3. Scotto farts his head off when I leave the bedroom to have my morning coffee because he thinks I won’t notice.
I thought about it all day at work and queried Scotto again tonight in order to investigate the source of this vile entity.
“Do you just fart your head off when I leave the bedroom in the morning because you think I won't hear you?” I asked gently.
He looked very sheepish but denied any guilt in regards to my subtle accusations.
But I’m highly suspicious. I’m putting Gladwrap over the toilet bowl to cancel out the possibility of the septic tank stinking.
Tomorrow night, I will Gladwrap the dogs’ bums.
After that… who knows.
*Seriously, no offence to Turkish men. I'm sure I'd love them.
