Despite the best intentions, the weekend was a bit of a write-off, and apart from a brief interlude with an old mate to tell each other bawdy tales about breaking wind, the rest of the time was more about flat than flatulence. My mate, an 83-year-old American, and I have been friends for decades, the first half of our friendship being spent working together. We have often shared jokes about farts and farting and inspired each other to buy fart machines. In my wayward youth, I once propped a blow-up love doll in our boss’s seat with a remote-controlled fart…