October Sun

After a brief but satisfying tutorial this afternoon, I went to sit at a bench beside the refectory. I closed my eyes to avoid squinting from the glaring sun, which was still strong, even for 3.30. I remember thinking that maybe it's hot now to compensate for such a hideous August. The heat of the sun was so warming, i didn't really even need to wear a jumper. It was exactly what I needed, the sun energized me through and through. I'd like to think this abstract piece of summer was a gift, but then I remembered global warming and my smile faded a bit.

Enough about today.

I said yesterday that I would tell you something that happened a few days ago. It's not a nice memory, but I know I need to write about it. The irony about it is... the man brought it on himself, in his own private hell, desperately, longingly wishing to get away. He was humiliating himself through his own unfortunate malady; trapped wind- or the release of the stuff. He knew he was making some outrageous noises, he just didn't know that I knew about it.
I'll set the scene: I'm in Tesco's, just looking at the reduced shelves near the checkouts. I hear a loud, sputtery fart and appalled, I look around to find the perpetrator. He doesn't know I'm looking at him because he's looking in the direction of the till operator, who may have heard it to, but I'm not certain. His face is scarlet, there may even be sweat on his brow. He looks seriously ill, mid-forties, scruffy- like he'd risked nipping out of the house early, to avoid the rush. But he really shouldn't have left the house, those sausages and milk really could have waited...
He let out another one, I was sure by the sound of the next one that he was not just letting out wind. This time he was level with the cashier, she didn't flinch. He looks more and more uncomfortable, is there something dropping down his lose jogging bottoms? I hope not, and I'm trying not to think about it, but, there is something about grotesque situations that you just can't help but watch. I'm glued to the spot, feet facing the shelves, head intermittently facing the checkout. He pays for the shopping, the concentration on his face is immense, he looks too embarrassed to even talk to the cashier.
So he waddles out of the store, probably to sit on the loo all day. All I can say is that he shouldn't have left home, sausages and milk... are they really essential?!

Please don't think that I'm weird or perverted for posting this obscene blog, but it's stuck in my mind for some hideous reason. I intend to write something memorable that happens, something that influences my day, but i can't promise it will be smelling of roses every time.