Mister Andersen made the best hot pies in the Burghs, and always supplied a supplementary treat. It was entertainment too. Mister Andersen was a jovial fellow, with a smiling red face, which was always flushed, and jowls which seemed to hang to the floor. He was corpulent, a trait he had bequeathed to his brood of children, who popped out of Missus Andersen with alarming regularity. His special gift was flatulence, which he was unable, or unwilling to control. Each expulsion was followed by ‘Oops, there goes another one,’ which sent his giggling flock running in all directions as they pinched their nostrils closed. Joe loved the gaiety of it all, when his own abode was filled with gloom. There was the aroma too. Not from Mister Andersen’s posterior, but the mixed smells of baked pastry and hot juicy meat. 

Mister Andersen was in fine form, and despite the early hour, he precariously balanced on a wobbly stool, and entertained his patrons with a fine rendition of, A Passing Wind, which he performed with flatulistic perfection.