S**t talker

I'd been at a music festival all day with a colleague, her boyfriend and their pal, S. We were pleasantly intoxicated, mildly sunburnt and in a busy kebab shop, waiting for our orders.

S. began talking loudly about how when someone farts and you smell it, that means tiny s**t particles are going up your nose.

I could see a big dude nearby looking increasingly angry as S. - whose day job was at a technical college - delivered his lecture.

I think the other two sensed the danger as well. We tried to divert S. onto a more acceptable topic, but his drunken brain was obsessed with the idea of roaming poo particles and he wanted to tell the world about them.

The big dude looked like he was ready to punch S. in the face. Maybe the rest of us, too. If it was a cartoon, he would've had bright red skin and steam coming out of his ears.

Fortunately, that's when our number was called by the person on the register. We were able to grab our food and hustle S. outside before violence ensued.

We ate our kebabs on the street. There was talk of kicking on somewhere. Then my workmate and her fella got into a heated argument. I said goodbye and jumped in a cab home. She told me later that she and her b/f had done the same soon afterwards.

I don't know where S. ended up that night, or what kind of s**t (particles) he got himself into.