Jay

Crazy.

I was stuck.

But hey, I had you lads in my ears, so I strapped in for the long haul.

The seismic shift then, the insidious rumbling began.

The curry, bless its cotton socks, had finished its digestive tour and was demanding an immediate no questions asked evacuation.

We're barely going 20 miles per hour and my mind was racing.

Fuck, what's the plan?

Motorway hard shoulder squat, pray for a miracle.

Suddenly, I was overcome by an involuntary fart.

A dry one.

Thank fucking heavens.

But the stench, oh, the stench.

It was a chemical weapon disguised as flatulence.

I slammed the windows down, cranked the AC to gale force to prevent myself from vomiting all over my steering wheel.

I genuinely thought, that's it, crisis averted.

I was, of course, tragically mistaken.

Within minutes, my internal organs went into full panic mode.

My stomach felt like a hardened football.

My sphincter was twitching like a faulty electrical wire.

And I was sweating so profusely, it looked like I'd just climbed out of a swimming pool fully clothed.