The best of me is the worst in me… Who can smell toast?

The best of me is the worst in me… Who can smell toast?

I remember reading that if someone smells burning toast when there is no toast present, it is a possible sign of stroke. I always thought that was a pretty specific suggestion. It’s not like they said; one of the signs of stroke was a person smelling things that weren’t there. It specified burning toast. That tidbit, is courtesy of a small storage centre in my brain that hangs on to oddities. They get dragged out occasionally and the I use them for more nefarious purposes, than whatever they were stored for originally. Underneath my stoic, reserved exterior, I have a wicked side and I’ll get back to the toast later.

I bring this up because it is related to a few minutes of nonsense that occurred as my darling Jo and I, prepared to go to bed the other night. We were reminiscing and I was reminded of some of the flatulence related gags, I had pulled on the kids when they were smaller, and I honestly haven’t laughed as much in quite a while, thinking back on what a terrible father I must have been.

Now farts are a favourite source of humour for small children, of this there is no doubt. One day, long, long ago, I casually wondered aloud if it might not be possible to catch, and freeze a fart. The kids were instantly hooked and were keen that I might expand on the idea. So, I simply mused aloud on the notion and asked them to consider how it might be done, if indeed it could be done at all. You see, I explained, catching ones wafted exuberance, sounded like quite a challenge. It might not even be possible I suggested. That was the hook to their childish curiosity.

It led to a discussion the nature of which can only occur in a serious fashion, between small children and an idiot father. We debated the pros and cons, the challenges involved, such as what container one might use, and whether or not it would require more than one person to capture the elusive stank. While they generally agreed it would be harder for one person alone to do this, when I suggested we give it a try, there were no volunteers. None of them wanted to be down wind of my arse when the hooter was sounded.

Looking back it was quite hilarious how matter of fact I managed to be in hosting this discussion, all the while keeping a straight face. Finally, it was decided that I should go out into the hallway (alone) and attempt to fill a plastic Tupperware container with the aforementioned stinky pongaloochy. Now before you think I can crack one off on demand, I assure I cannot. In fairness I am one of the least flatulent people I have ever come across. It just so happened that on that particular day, I was suffering the after effects of a hefty feed of Guinness the night before. That and a spicy chicken curry will do it. I was brewing something that to my mind at least, meant I should really have my innards cleaned out with a damp cloth.

To cut to the chase, I returned triumphant to the kitchen, carrying the little sealed plastic box before me with both hands, almost as if it contained some precious, fragile object. I even walked very slowly, to make it look like I wouldn’t dare drop it. The kids went into hysterics laughing and backed off, as though I was carrying a vial of nitroglycerin.

“Behold… the mighty fart has been captured.”

I’m not sure what they thought they’d see. They were very young, but they were fascinated at the apparently empty plastic box that I held in my hands. They could see nothing. If I had indeed managed to trap a new fragrance, (L’odeur de parp) they had no visual guide. Maybe they had expected a green fog, I don’t know. What I do know is that while on the one hand they were doubters, because even at a young age they knew me and my shenanigans all too well, on the other hand, they really kind of, sort of wanted to believe in this mystical possibility. Oooh the tension. But then I asked the most important question.

“Who wants to smell it, to see if it worked?”

The suggestion created pandemonium, especially when I offered it to them. They couldn’t get away from the little box quick enough. Now I know what you want to know. There are a couple of key questions to be answered here. Firstly, which kid stepped up, peeled the lid back and sniffed deeply – those were the instructions that I gave the child?  – yes, I am a baxtard – and had I truly managed to capture the elusive stankernel?

When we laughing our heads off remembering this the other night, we decided to message the two (now adult) kids, to see if they could in fact remember the events of that faithful day. They both cracked up when we reminded them and they remembered the whole thing, except for one odd detail. Not one of them recalled which one took the plunge and sniffed the potentially poisonous potion. On hearing this, I told them that of course, I could remember, but as they couldn’t, that I’d take that secret to my death bed. I can’t help it, I am a cruel father.

The other two questions are; did I manage to capture my blustery perfume in the little plastic box at all and if I did, what did it smell like. Well let me answer that in reverse order, the second part has to be answered hypothetically as in answering it factually, it could prove or disprove the first part, if you follow.

To answer the ‘what did it smell like’ part, I will refer to a follow on piece of chat that we had the other night, for as surely as night follows day, I can’t tell one story, without it reminding me of another. My second tale was met with equal hilarity, if indeed not more so from my darling Jo, who hadn’t heard of the story I was about to tell her before. I’ll share it with you. Don’t worry it’s short.

When I was a teenager, I had a favourite fart trick. Please feel free to use this one, it’s not patented. On the occasion of one letting slip an S.B.D. (silent but deadly) there is always a moment between where you know what you’ve done and just how bad it smells, and the rest of the room being enlightened as to it’s presence and potency. In that moment you ask the person or persons there present, to do something that they simply cannot resist doing.

You tell them a simple fact and then ask them a follow up question that makes them do the one thing they should never do in the presence of an S.B.D. You say;

“I can smell burned toast!  Can you smell toast?”

No one can resist answering that call. Works every time I swear. Everyone inhales deeply, trying to smell the toast that they believe you are smelling. I’m sorry but that cracked me up as a teenager. And so, the answer to the what did it smell like (hypothetically) is…definitely not toast.

As to the answer to the question, “did I manage to trap the beast in the first place,” that my friends, is something you’ll have to try for yourselves to find out… Enjoy the weekend.

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24 thoughts on “The best of me is the worst in me… Who can smell toast?

  1. That gave me a good laugh this afternoon – thank you for that.
    However, I never knew the thing about burnt toast being the sign of a stroke. Now it’s in my head and I’m not sure whether to thank you for that or not.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Aw, Patrick, man … what are we to do with you? Without getting too deep into the topic this combo-tale did remind me of that old sea shanty narrated at length during many a piss-up (as opposed to a fart-up.
    To end my comment a much-abbreviated verse because I don’t think your followers are ready for ‘Mabel’ or some of the others:
    ‘It were on the good ship Venus … by God, you should have seen us … when the wind wouldn’t blow, and the ship wouldn’t go, McCarter the Farter would start ‘er.” .:D

    Liked by 1 person

  3. You are funny! What a brilliant dad you were and are! My father was equally a prankster but would never have dared anything fart related for fear of my mother’s po-faced disapproval. (Yes, I used the word deliberately.) My younger cousin, on the other hand, had a father much like you, and when I was about nine, staying there one precious weekend without my parents in attendance, we lay in bed together and she introduced me to the fun-filled game of seeing how many times each of us could burp and fart. She’d had more practice at this game than me (turned out it was a regular family pastime in their house.) Inevitably she won. I spent the rest of the night throwing up in their bathroom. No stamina or skills at all. A memorable time. Thank you for reminding me of the joys of farts. And no, I never smelt one yet like burnt toast.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. My favourite game was Saturday morning, I’d start telling them a scary story which they lived. The only condition was we had to pull the duvet over our heads so it would be dark.. Ciara my youngest always lasted the longest.. usually Boyd 60 seconds before chickening our.. then saying.. again again. 😂😂🎈☘️


  4. Great blog post Patrick. I’m reminded of a Ford Cortina I once owned whose cloth seats absorbed farts and released stale fartulence the next time you got into the car and sat down. Used to annoy my wife intensely when she wanted to use the car. As for Carter the starter; I’m sure he sailed on every RFA I was on.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Oddly, I’ve woken a couple of times recently smelling something familiar that I can’t quite catch, as it’s gone before I can identify it. It’s slightly unnerving, as it evokes a memory, if indeed it is a memory, that isn’t quite pleasant, but again, the memory is gone before I can capture it. Weird. It definitely isn’t toast, though.

    Liked by 1 person

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