The ‘F’ word

‘Henry, Henry, I am not going to say this again. Yes we all pass wind.’

‘No mum it’s called farting. Everyone’s farted some time.’ My aunts face is pink with anger, disappointment and annoyance that she is about to have to say the f word ‘fart’. In our family you can say fuck as much as you like, but you say ‘fart’ and you’re suddenly walking on thin ice.

‘Right Henry darling, so everyone farts (muffled, definitely doesn’t count) but that does not mean that 1) we need to be made aware every time you do this 2) that you make other people, especially strangers aware that they have done this, and 3) no more telling strangers that you or I have just done the thing that we are discussing. Do you understand me?’ My cousin is looking blankly at my aunt.

Now readers to put this enjoyable conversation into context, my aunt, her husband, their two kids and I are all driving to Spain. It’s going to take two days. We have been in the car for about 7 hours, when the two apples, 1 packet of sour Haribo, a handful of blueberries and a carton of orange juice is causing havoc with Henry’s youthful stomach. I have the joy of sitting in the back with this child and I am continually being gassed into the realms of the unconscious. My aunt is trying desperately to teach Henry the social niceties concerning bathroom habits. And as she keeps relaying ‘the best way of dealing with what happens in the bathroom is to pretend it never happens.’

‘Mum its better out than in. Remember that’s what the BFG said and he’s met the Queen. The Queen farts, you fart too I heard you earlier.’ At this my aunt turns to my uncle and seethes.

‘I told you not to let him watch that bloody film! It’s about a giant with flatulence issues. I mean come on! It is hard enough as it is! He let his teacher know last week that he had managed to pass wind 5 times and when exiting the bathroom he told the teaching assistant what he’d flushed! He’s 8 years old! There is no need for anyone to be told this information, and it is deeply embarrassing when strangers inform me that my son needs to eat more fruit to help with his ‘system’.’

‘The BFG is a classic, and it’s not about a farting giant!’ My uncle’s statement may seem simple enough to you, but he has used the dreaded ‘f’ word. Blasphemy in the eyes of my aunt.

‘Ahhhhohhhahhhh, For fucks sake! I cannot believe you just said that. I am trying so desperately hard to manage Henry’s bad language and look at you using it so casually! You should be very ashamed!’

I of course by this point have rolled the window down and am laughing hysterically. For those of you mulling over the idea of a road trip, please yes go ahead, they can be fun! But I will warn you that if for some unknown reason you have decided to have children and are considering taking them with you, just don’t do it. The magic of seeing Paris may seem wonderful whilst your tucked up in bed with the Sunday Times and a cup of coffee, but when your child has to pee in a bottle because there is nowhere to pull over, and he then tells you that he can’t hold off his number two any longer that beautiful dream becomes a shitting nightmare.