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Thunderstorms Are Flatulence


Evening Trev,

Can I still call you that or would you prefer God?

I hope you’re not baking in this heat. Although, is that even a problem for you? Can you just go and sit on whichever cloud you want, above a country with a perfect temperature or you? Or are you chilling on a sun-lounger with a handheld fan? Either way, you need to turn the sun down a touch – I’m melting. Yes, I’m your typical Brit. I moan when it’s too hot, whinge when it’s too cold and don’t get me started on the snow, Mate, my wheels and snow are a no-go; I end up sinking, skidding or pirouetting. Was it an accidental invention that you decided to leave because it was pretty? You do know, after a day or two it looks like you’ve spilt your giant Slush Puppy all over the floor.

I’m not too sure what I wanted to chat about. To be honest you’re a bit of a filler – nothing reportable has happened. There’s loads going on, but not much has materialised yet. So, here I am, on Thursday afternoon, making small talk with you. How are you? I don’t find you to be a big talker, some folks would disagree though.

Going back to the weather. I was having a debate with a seven-year-old this morning who was under the impression that when a thunderstorm hit, it was due to your flatulence. Who’s to dispute it because no one really knows, apart from you, of course. If this is the case, I suggest you quit eating sprouts – not every day is Christmas Day. Failing that, get some tablets from your local pharmacy. Where is your local pharmacy?

More importantly, where’s your local pub? Where do you kick-back and relax after a long week in the office? Are you a darts or a pool kinda fella? Personally, I see you with a dart in one hand and a pint of Guinness in the other. Maybe you have more than two hands which would put you at a bit of an unfair advantage. But then I can’t really say much; I was great at Tug of War when I was a kid. I’d tie the rope around my chair and just reverse. Nobody else stood a chance – they’d simply collapse like dominoes. It was oddly satisfying.

Speaking of being a kid. Why is being a kid so fun and being an adult so dull? When you’re below a certain age it’s totally acceptable to laugh when people fall over or to shout, “BOGIES” in the middle of the supermarket. You can do handstands on the grass, flashing your knickers in the process and nobody cares (aside from the Jimmy Saviles of the world). If you do any of that as an adult you end up with one hell of a reputation, an ASBO or a prison sentence, but probably all the above. What did you do when you were younger? A game of Musical Chairs with the clouds? Make tester volcanoes to see how the real things would work? Play Hot Potato with the stars? Did you ever get an ASBO for yelling, “Bloody hell!” at Sunday School? One thing’s for sure, we’ll know when you’ve had one too many pints and got done for drink driving. The world will start spinning quicker than we’re used to. Maybe don’t drink drive, Trev. It’ll end in a calamity.

That’s all for now. I’m going to go and sit in the fridge until you find the thermostat for the sun.

Speak soon

Your resident writer in a wheelchair

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