Revenge on a pub in Waterloo
Me and my work mates used to go to a pub in Waterloo, which we will call The Florence Nightingale for the reason that it was that very pub and the closest to work.
The landlord was a particularly obnoxious ex-Met policeman from whom any sense of humour had been forcibly removed at birth.
He had a habit of banning people from his drinking emporium at whim and one evening we became no exception for a minor misdemenour, the nature of which eludes me, but was probably for laughing in a built up area.
Forward a few weeks later, and we return. Now, 2 things to remember about the Florence. 1) It is a huge ugly modern crap pub, which has/had a long round bar so the git of a landlord couldn't see us where we were sitting. 2) The tables were these wrought iron, Singer sewing machine type things.
So whilst waiting for the inevitable with the landlord finally spotting us and chucking us out again, I started finding all the wing nuts that kept these tables from interfacing with gravity and unscrewing them. It was a particularly quiet night and I managed to do about five, leaving them in a very wobbly state before we were ejected. We just made it to the door when we heard the first one collapse so we legged it. The nuts went down a handy drain.
(Doctor Evil, Thu 5 May 2005, 10:31, Reply)