Whilst on a school trip to the Lake District, an enterprising fellow, by the name of Speakman, took with him a cheap foil disposable barbacue (the sort you'd purchase at petrol stations), a pack of bacon, sausages, and bread. Speakman reasoned he could cook, and then sell bacon and sausage butties when we stopped for our lunch break, thereby generating a fine profit for himself. After getting the BBQ going, someone (who read the instructions on the discarded wrapper) informed the world in general that it would take an hour or so for the barbaque to reach a stage where food could be prepared on it. The gathered crowd (those with money to buy such things) quickly dispersed, causing much embarassment on Speakman's part and loud admonishment of the label-reader, which led to the disposal of the flaming BBQ, piled with bread, sausage and bacon into the lake we'd stopped by. Presumably he hoped he could dispose of the now unwanted stuff, and that would be an end to the affair. It wasn't, as the foil tray refused to sink, and drifted gracefully across the lake, merrily blazing and belching dark smoke, like a viking funeral for bacon and sausages.