Traversing the concourse at London Victoria station is challenging at the best of times, with people erratically crisscrossing in front of you at breakneck speed; most of whom not having the slightest clue where they’re going… but desperately trying to get in front of you to get there nonetheless.

On occasion these cretinous comets have a tail that leaves a wake of devastation behind them in the form of a fart. The sort of fart that is the result of a poorly chosen lunch with the nutritional value of a carpet sample.

All because “fuck it, it’s Friday. I’ll have another pint of bitter”.

For those of you who have seen Tron, I want you to recall the lightcycles and the wall they leave behind them. Walking into these farts have a remarkably similar effect.

Stops you dead.

Small kids don’t stand a chance.

And why can I now taste it?