How were we to know, when we rented a hot-air balloon for Five Weeks in a Balloon -- this autumn's production of "Jules Verne in the Open Air" from the Riddled Amateur Dramatic Society -- that the giant vat-grown brain would be feeling amorous in its nutrient tank in the Research Laboratory? Or that it would use its telekinetic levitation to escape (again)? "Time to tweak the hormone mixture in the nutrients," sez Another Kiwi, "could be an excess of testosterone."
The cast were shaken but no-one was hurt and we all learned a valuable lesson.
The hire company was not well-pleased with the state of the balloon when we returned it, but I pointed out that they can't very well brand their product as "Ineffable" and then complain when someone does manage to eff it.