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.
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