Muharraq
There was a renowned pyromaniac hunter pilot in Bahrain, recently arrived from Khormaksar whose inventiveness in jolly japes was legend. At one Dining In his work was evident when after Grace the top table's snacking irons all fell to the floor as chairs were pulled back, having all been painstakingly attached with black thread to the chair legs. The Staish, "Twinkle" indulgently called for more cutlery and then the suspicious lump under the carpet uttered a loud bang and a liferaft inflated and lifted the table again with much rude gassing off. This too was removed and the meal resumed. At this stage the two artillery shell cases each end of the top table detonated and what appeared to be flour bags shot up and hit the ceiling. The contents then spread out and descended in fine graded grains on the senior officers. The whole top table diners suddenly became old men with white hair and eyebrows. The rubicon had been crossed. "H*****r-H***s" bellowed the Staish. "Sir" came the reply. "Leave the Mess". "Sir"
It was rather boring after that.