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At the front the dippy deputy head woman with her Wurzel Gummidge hairstyle was talking self-indulgently about her recent trip to the Somme battlefield in northern France. She had taken pictures of the graveyard where Sheffield lads were buried - after dying for what? - probably nothing.
It was at the most moving point in her talk - as she held up a laminated photo of the Sheffield memorial stone in a wooded glade - that I let out a triumphant fart - or as Shakespeare might have written - a "sennet" blast. This fart was in the key of C major and it was, I swear, totally involuntary. It seemed to resound around the cavernous school hall.
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Haystack Hair at the front interrupted her spiel to declare that in no other year group had pupils giggled during her assembly and if the people who were finding her assembly so amusing wished to leave the hall then they were welcome to do so! I just couldn't bring myself to raise my hand and say "Mrs Gummidge - I am afraid that it is my fault! You see I let out a fart that was like a trumpet blast - must have something to do with the leftover curry my wife brought back from her work night out last evening!"
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