Local man, Martin Shuttlecock, a part time roast chestnut vendor from Titchfield, revealed that he had survived a horrendous buttock area gas explosion earlier today.
"I was lucky to escape unsinged," Shuttlecock told reporters.
According to sources, the explosion occurred as Shuttlecock was sitting on his leatherette settee in his period 1960's council flat as he watched Coronation Street on Sky Plus.
Whilst swilling copious amounts of McEwan's IPA and reconditioning a Johnny Seven one man army gun.
Rolling a Strangeways spider leg roll up with his free hand.
"I thought I was a goner, for sure," Shuttlecock announced. "It was a good job there were no naked flames in attendance, or it could have destroyed the whole bleeding street."
Long suffering wife, Anne, described the scene thus:
"I heard a terrific rasping sound emanating from the leatherette settee, and then felt what I initially thought was an earth tremor beneath my feet. Then I smelt the gas. By the cringe - it didn't half stink. Like mustard gas it was. Talk about smell it - I could damn near taste it. Even the floating spunk stuff in me period lava lamp sank. And the milk went sour, the ale went flat, and three rolls of wallpaper fell clean off the sitting room wall. The dirty arsed bastard!"
"I suppose this is what happens when you take chances in life," Shuttlecock admitted. "A large chicken vindaloo and twelve pints of lager can do that to a man's innards. Especially on top of four boiled eggs and a bowl of cabbage soup for breakfast. But in all honesty, I've never experienced anything like that before. Me scrotum was flapping like Chris Bonnington's tent on the South Col of Mount Everest in a storm. I shan't be doing that again in a hurry."
More fart related twattery as we get it.