How about this one: I went home last night via my old local, which is a thatched pub up a single lane dead–end road. When I drove into the car park, it was perfectly dry. When I had my first pint, I noticed the road was wet, despite the lack of rain. Now, in a fit of serendipitous stupidity, I thought nothing of it and went in the restaurant and stuffed my face with veggie pub food. When I returned to the bar, intending to pay and leave, the road was covered in Anglian water men wielding pneumatic drills digging holes to attempt to repair a burst water main. I was trapped—in my once favourite pub.
I had a hangover this morning.