Search for the Sunlight

The following morning Basil awoke to find Harry sitting alone by the fire. It was bitterly cold and in his hand he held a large mug of tea, a reheat from the night before.

“Morning, Baz,” was all the young Hawthorn said.

Basil smiled politely in acknowledgement, but he didn’t speak. Instead, he helped himself to a stewed brew and sat down next to his friend.

Slowly Herbert, then Sherlock awoke. Herbert rose from his lapsack and with a tight ascending squeak, followed up by a crisp, thunderous THRRRAP! he dispatched a fart so loud that it could be heard reverberating between the mountain peaks and the valleys for all of six seconds, before finally fading into silence.

“Morning all,” he croaked, stretching his twiggy arms high into the air and smiling proudly at his fine anal performance. The Constable could hardly contain himself.

“Better out than your eye!” he wheezed, burying his face in his helmet in a bid to suppress his uncontrollable giggling. Basil looked up from his mug with tears of laughter streaming from his eyes, while Harry, bouncing up and down in silent appreciation of his brother’s splendid flatulent rendition, spilled hot tea all over his bed socks. ‘The Trouser Cough,’ arguably the oldest joke in the civilised world, had made light the start to a brand new day.