As I stood there at the table, platter in hand, all sorts of strange thoughts and fancies plaguing my mind, my belly likewise left me no peace. It grumbled and rumbled constantly, telling me there were lads down there who’d rather be out in the open. The din around me was awful. I could help those fellows escape, I thought, by using the wheeze my friend had taught me only the night before. Following his instructions, I lifted my left leg as high as possible, pressed as hard as I could, and was about to murmur the Je pète spell three times under my breath when, quite unexpectedly, that gang of ruffians burst from my backside with such a roar that for a moment I was scared stiff. My heart sank as if I’d just climbed the ladder to the gallows and the hangman was slipping the noose over my head. In my panic, I couldn’t make my limbs obey me. Also, the noise was so loud that my voice threatened to join the rebellion. Not to be outdone by my sphincter, my lips wanted an equal hearing. Their function was to speak up (even shout, if necessary); they certainly weren’t going to murmur. So up went the volume, and the words I’d meant to mutter under my breath rang out loud and clear, soaring above the clamour from my bum. Je pète, je pète, je pète, I yelled, and the effect was so alarming I might have been having my throat cut. The more hideous the din from below, the more terrifying the cries that issued from above. It was as if both ends of my gut were competing to see which could make the loudest sound. OK, I got some relief internally, but at the expense of turning the governor, whose guests had been jerked back to sobriety by the surprise explosion, into a harsh master. I was stretched over a trencher and given a beating I remember to this day. I’d never been punished since first drawing breath, and when I was, it was for sullying the very air we must all breathe. Incense and candles were brought, and guests took out their own musk balls and balm boxes – even snuff, some of them. But nothing helped. I’d given the performance of my life, outdone the world’s greatest entertainer, brought peace to my innards (blows to my back, though), treated the guests to an almighty whiff, and put the staff to no end of trouble, making the room smell nice again.