I once saw a landlord drop a highly-piled tray of glasses to the floor because he was laughing so hard.
It was my brother Mark's fault.

Mark was telling us P-Way stories. Those blokes you see in hi-vis, carrying picks beside the track as your train trundles by,* used to be called P-Way, or Permanent Way, workers.

In summer P-Way men were issued with hats with attached neck-veils to keep the sun off. Back in the 70s, Mark's foreman refused to wear his, vain as he was about his fine head of long glossy hair.

One day he was further down across the track than the others when a train went by and it took him a while to catch them up.

He seemed to be walking strangely too, holding his head on one side...

Someone had flushed the train bog as it passed him and the contents had hit him, and he had a respectably-sized turd plastered across one side of his freshly-shampooed head.

Mark nodded. 'I told him, THAT'S what the veil's for.'

And THAT'S when the tray of glasses hit the deck.

*standing with their backs to the train, if they've any sense, Mark says, in light of the above.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Fri 6 Feb 2009, 6:46, Reply)