Day Two. The only remaining housemate is on the bog in the netty. He’s reading the copy of the Writers’ & Artists’ Yearbook he bought last week, and thinking about trying to change his life, when really he should be getting on with the last challenge, with which he's now very much behind. Then, just as he’s about to flush, he notices that his excrement is floating on the surface of the toilet bowl, whereas usually it spreads itself out in the valley of the U-bend, slowly, and revoltingly, diffusing....
So there you have it: Bona. Fide. Science. After a mere two days of fasting, the fastee’s faeces are floating like feathers in a Force 4 kerfuffle.
There may yet be more of these. The night is young.
And if I may coin a rather jarring formulation that's doing the rounds at the moment: I’m all about the short posts these days, I am.