“Oh, she says, well, you’re not a poor man. You know, why don’t you go online and buy a hundred envelopes and put them in the closet? And so I pretend not to hear her. And go out to get an envelope because I’m going to have a hell of a good time in the process of buying one envelope. I meet a lot of people. And see some great looking babies. And a fire engine goes by. And I give them the thumbs up. And I’ll ask a woman what kind of dog that is. And, and I don’t know. The moral of the story is – we’re here on Earth to fart around. And, of course, the computers will do us out of that. And what the computer people don’t realize, or they don’t care, is we’re dancing animals. You know, we love to move around. And it’s like we’re not supposed to dance at all anymore.”
Apart from being amusing and raising a smile I have to say that I agree with the sentiment. What would this life be if we didn’t make space for ‘farting around’?
It was then I realised that I live in a town that was made for farting around in. Modern Stratford upon Avon is the ideal place if farting around is something you delight in (as I do). And that’s mainly because there’s not a lot else to do. I ought to clarify that and say that Stratford upon Avon is about ‘Looking’. Not a lot of ‘Doing’. Mainly ‘Looking’.
I can’t think of a better place than Stratford upon Avon for People-Watching which, when one thinks about it, has to be near the summit for farting around. Finding oneself a comfortable spot on a warm day to watch the world go by is farting around to the Nth degree. In fact, talking of degrees I’m surprised that there’s not a qualification on offer at some progressive University on the art of Farting around.
As for me and my own FA activities, there’s nothing quite as entertaining as observing the puzzled and panicky look on the face of the lost tourist and his or hers crumpled map. I find it amusing because they don’t know that getting lost in Stratford is impossible. The place is so deceptively small that all a lost soul has to do is keep walking and before long they will meet themselves coming back in the other direction.
Sometimes, I confess I have, in order to prolong my amusement and enhance my experience of Farting Around, at the predicament of the Lost Tourist, left stepping in to assist until the last moment. Cruel, some might say, but tell me, what else is a bored resident expected to do to pass the time of day? And besides, no real harm done.
Stratford upon Avon is full of people farting around. There’s a surfeit of the very drunk. A mass of the so-called street entertainer/performer and all sorts of other, uncategorised and unidentified people, all of them, farting around.
Perhaps at the top of the list of Fart Arounders are the so-called entertainers who for a living, stand still. Masters of Farting Around they have taken it to the next level. There is absolutely no way Farting Around could be improved. To change a Verb into a Noun is a skill in itself.
I love it. And consider myself, although not yet a Master of the Art, at the very least nearly a Black Belt.
I can, starting in town, walk around the river and end up back where I started from min a n hour. During which I will have waved at Cyril Bennis, nodded at a complete stranger and perhaps, (if I’m in the mood) smiled at a Traffic Warden. I’ll see Sam from the Dirty Duck, give a person sleeping in a doorway a quid (or not) and drop in for a coffee and a Guinness at the Vintner. I’ll walk up Henley Street just for the kick and wander into the ‘Shop that sells everything’ and buy nothing. My life is my own and I am my own man.