One day I was sitting down to dinner with my family when my father walked in. "Lads," he said, "I've installed some revolving turntables underneath your tablemats, with a lever by my tablemat so that I can control the speed of them."
"What?" said my mother, bemused.

My dad sat down and flicked a switch and, sure enough, all our tablemats began to revolve. We managed to eat without too much trouble at first, but soon my dad said, "Oh dear, they seem to be speeding up." He pushed his lever forward and our tablemats span faster and faster until our food flew off our plates, and the plates themselves shot off the table and smashed into the walls. "Well well," said my dad. "You'll have to be a bit more prepared in future won't you?"

From that day on we had to make extensive calculations before each mealtime to work out exactly where to place the food on each plate. We eventually got the hang of it, and my dad sat silently scowling during mealtimes, obviously fed up of us getting it right all the time as it took the fun out of changing the speed up and down.

One day my dad went out to the van in a huff, and was heard making loud noises and walking in and out of the dining room. It soon became obvious that he was doing something to the tablemats with van parts.

That evening, my dad sat down to dinner with us with a knowing smile. As we waited for the now-familiar whirr of the motors, there was instead a tremendous roar, and we realised that he had somehow connected the van engine to the tablemats. He heaved it into gear with a wicked cackle, and the entire table suddenly span round and smashed through the patio doors, where it blew up in the garden.

"Whoops," said dad.

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