Right. I’m going to heavily anonymise this one (for obvious reasons).  I LOVE flotation tanks. Now a number of years ago, I went to a local flotation tank place on a Sunday afternoon and had a blissful, relaxing float.  The next day, I went to where I was working temporarily and bumped into Richy Rich who was chatting to some geezer, (Prof) Neville Bunting.  He was raving about his weekend which had included his first experience of a flotation tank. 

“Wow, what a coincidence”, I said, so excited to find someone who liked flotation tanks. “I had a float at Hometowny Float Palace yesterday afternoon”.  “No way!”, he replied, “When were you there?”  “Five o’clock…”, I said. “That’s funny, we must have been in just before you”, he continued.  Er. Back up a minute. We?  “We?” I said.  “Well yes, you know, I gave the receptionist a bit of the old charm and she let my girlfriend go in with me and…”, he said, smirking, “let’s just say, we certainly floated”.

EEEEUUGHH.  That was the last float I had.

A few months later I was pregnant and heard that Neville and his partner were having a baby too. Aaawww.  Bless.  Nine months after the float I gave birth to a lovely bonny baby. Looking out of the window of the maternity ward, I saw Neville walking across the car park with a set of balloons and a cuddly toy.

All true.