As I am walking through a small square in the medieval quarters of Zagreb, I feel a fart coming. Some way in front of me there is only an old woman in a scruffy fur coat. Dragging her feet, she is going in the same direction. I reckon that she could not possibly hear me, and I let it rip. When she stops in her tracks and starts turning around, which takes her quite a while, I look the other way and begin adjusting my knapsack. To my disgrace, I do not have the nerve to give the old women a naughty little wink.