Back around July, I visited my parents and younger sister in North Wales. I took my daughter and her mate with me. We went Friday and were travelling back on the Sunday. There's no road between my sister's and my parents' houses, just 47 steps (I counted) over a path.
I was having a gab with my Dad and all the women were at my sister's as we were preparing to hit the road. I thought I'd have a cig before going over and stood on the front door step.
Now I need to be clear - there had been no shit food, no ridiculous amounts of drinking and no stomach rumblings at this point. I felt fine.
As I stood on the door step, I felt a fart coming and, not having any reason to be suspicious, allowed it into the Welsh air.
Uh-oh, that was warm. Now at this point, and given the lack of evidence to suggest a problem, I did what instantly came to mind. I thought it was one of those bubble farts that get stuck between the cheeks so I slipped my left hand down my shorts and undies to investigate. Upon its return, the area from thumb up to and including middle finger, back and front of hand, was covered in a light brown substance that was somewhere between curdled milk and cheese spread.
I immediately retreated back through the house past my Dad who was shocked to see me. I'd told him only moments earlier that I was going to get my daughter and her mate so we can load the car up. I put my hand behind my back, headed for the bathroom and got myself sorted before jumping in the shower. As I left the bathroom in a towel, my Dad was heading to the kitchen and saw me. Now he was really baffled and asked what I was playing at because 15 minutes ago, I was saying my goodbyes.
I was moved to say one of the stranger things I heard myself saying in 2023. A list that included "I hope we don't score again" during the Old Trafford derby.
"I've just shit myself Dad."
Luckily, he found it piss funny and told me a couple of his own horror stories.
