Laura is a pretty, conscientious, twenty-one year old working with us at the moment. She is on a work placement as part of her media studies degree. She is as middle class as it is possible to be. Proper without being prim, polite, presentable, bright as button, a little shy at first – a thoroughly nice girl.
Laura is concerned with her well being without being in any way obsessive about it, I know she enjoys her fair share of boozy nights out with her friends. But, sensibly, she also looks after herself.
So, because she’s been feeling a little tired recently (as most of do at this time of year?), Laura has spent the past ten days on a propriety de-tox course. It’s full of potions that need to be added to the gallon of water she has to drink each day, and a whole rainbow of pills she takes in fistfuls at seemingly hourly intervals. She doesn’t appear to have any actual ‘food’ in her diet anymore.
We have a busy office and it’s often very noisy but sometimes, for the odd luxurious moment, a brief calm descends.
This afternoon Laura filled one of these small oases of peace with a fart so loud, so deliciously throaty and protracted, that time momentarily stood still. Pens hovered, fingers wavered over keyboards and muted conversation dwindled into silence, a single telephone rang but nobody answered it.
Laura sat for a long moment in the dreadful hiatus following her anal exclamation mark - then, very calmly under the circumstances, picked up her purse and jacket and looking neither right nor left walked the length of the office and out of the door. As the door closed somebody began to applaud....
She’s switched off her mobile phone, do you think she will be back tomorrow?