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Today's Menu Fathers windy day Click on a title
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Fathers 'Windy Day' Now
this story might not be to everyone’s taste but if you are one of the many
people who suffers at the hands of a family member, with what we might call ‘a
back-draft problem’, then I’m sure you will find it a breath of fresh air,
so-to-speak. Father
was as happy as a pig-in-poop… His
sausage was the best in town and with the prize boar as his reward; there was
every chance of a repeat performance next year. | |
And
the best was yet to come. Father would be the toast of the Pig & Whistle
tonight. Every smallholder in Szeged would have to buy him a jug of the finest
brew in Hungary – ‘Old Gut Gurgler’. This very special and rare old ale is
reserved for the sole consumption of the proud owner of the best sausage, on the
evening of victory.
Even
Janos Strobl would have to humble himself and buy father a celebratory jug. For
him, that should have been the worst moment of his life, as he and father are
not exactly friends. So when the moment arrived, father was more than surprised
to see Janos wearing the biggest grin he had ever seen. It was such a big grin
that it almost spoiled the moment for father and should have made him suspicious
of a 'Strobl bearing gifts'!. But it was his thirteenth jug of ‘Old Gut
Gurgler’ that night, so he really didn’t give-a-dam.
As
it is, we can only speculate about that grin, but we can be pretty sure it had
something to do with the extra ingredient in that Jug, which Janos personally
handed to father. The effect of this mystery extra ingredient is not in any
doubt, it turned a happy smallholder with a sore head, into Mister Methane.
Mother
was woken by a rumbling noise, the like of which she had never heard before. She
dived under the bed thinking it must be an earthquake. Realizing that the earth
wasn’t moving, she lay there, dazed and confused.
Was
it a dream…could it have been a thunderstorm…maybe it…
Suddenly
the rumbling started again. The bedsprings began to shudder and a layer of dust
descended onto mother’s flannelette nightie. As the rumbling grew to a
grumbling, it dawned on mother that it was coming from the mattress above her
head…
“Saints preserve us,” screamed
mother…”It’s the headless Hog-Hunter of old Szeged Town… AAAAAAAAH.”
All
that rumbling and screaming stirred father from his drunken slumber.
“Quiet Gladys…the neighbours will hear,”
mumbled father.
“Attila Fuchs – just you wake up this instant
and explain yourself.”
“Give-over Ethel, I’ve got a terrible
headache.”
Mother
was now standing over him with a large frying pan…
“You’ll have a headache when I’m through with
you…Who’s Gladys? and… RUMBLE… GURGLE… and what’s that noise you are
making.”
“It must be the ‘Old Gut Gurgler’ the lads
have been pouring down me neck”
“Well you can just take your gurgling guts
outside… GURGLE… and don’t come… RUMBLE… back till that pig sty is
gleaming-gleaming-gleaming.”
Father
set to work on cleaning out the sty, thinking that the gut gurgling would soon
pass, - but it didn’t.
Lunchtime
arrived and so did ‘The Smell From Hell’. Father was just climbing over the
top of the sty fence, when he dropped the H-bomb of all 'Trouser trumpets’...
The
poor porkers didn’t know what had hit them. One minute they were savoring the
delicate bouquet of a trough full of scoff, the next….Braaammpph!
They
shifted faster than a fiddlers elbow in a fast fiddling contest, as they headed
for their hut in the corner of the sty.
Father
meanwhile, was propelled from the fence by the force of the blast – head first
– into the wheelbarrow he had just filled with a weeks worth of pig poop.
What
a sight! He slipped and squelched his way toward the house,
“Help
me Gerty! I’m dirty!”…cried father, as he neared the door.
Mother
hurried to see what all the commotion was about but when she saw him, she ran
back inside and bolted the door.
“Down to the river with you to get cleaned up”
she called, as she closed the shutters on the kitchen window.
Poor
father trudged off to the Tisza to wash off the worst of the pig poop. As he
stood waist deep in the river, he felt couple of after-shocks bubbling up around
him, creating a do-it-your-self jacuzzi and killing off several fish that would
come in handy for supper.
When
he got back to the house his guts were still gurgling. They gurgled all day and
they rumbled all night. Mother tossed and cursed till she was fit to burst. But
it was father who burst first… Braaammmpph!
Fathers
‘Bun buster’ blew the blankets off the bed and mother’s nightie over her
head.
That
was the last straw for mother. It was time to bring in Dr. Klinker. He gave
father a thorough going over before pronouncing his verdict…
“I’m afraid it could be several weeks before
your problem clears up Mr. Fuchs. I can only advise you to get three gasmasks,
to alleviate some of the suffering.”
Mother
put on her coat and headed for the door.
“Don’t worry Odon, I’m just going to phone
your uncle Stefan.” And off she went.
She
had run out on me, left me to suffer alone while she was off breathing fresh air
and listening to the gentle strains of Szeged’s beautiful and varied bird
life.
The
next few hours were the worst of my young life. A Rumble!… and a Gurgle!…
would be followed by the tell-tale fluttering of fathers trouser legs…and
then…Braaammpph!…as I headed for the door.
A
few more trouser flutters and I was ready to move in with the pigs. But just
then, mother returned with a glimmer of hope for us all.
You
see, she had remembered that my uncle Stefan had often inflicted similar
suffering on his poor family as a result of his weakness for the Plum Brandy.
A
wonderful invention by his son (my cousin) Anton, had proved a lifesaver for the
Wantovic family. His ‘Thermal
trousers’ had brought an end to years of suffering and now, thanks to the
Express Parcel Company and mother’s quick thinking, they would soon be doing
the same for us…
