That reminds me of the farmer, let’s call him Rab the Robber to protect the guilty, who watched the progress of a new gas main being laid underground past his farm and started badgering the contractors to give him a connection to it on the sly. They told him where to go, but Rab was persistent and kept at them. With the contract nearly complete, they finally relented, but he had to dig a pipe track and supply the pipe to bring gas to the farmhouse and this was duly done. The day before Christmas, and their last day on the job, they told him the gas was now live. He would have to deal with connecting up to the house’s gas boiler, but Rab was happy with that and duly handed over the agreed £2,000.
After Christmas Rab got hold of a heating engineer and set him to doing this, but the man hit a snag: he was sure the gas coming through was propane, not methane. Rab was insistent: the pipe was from the new natural gas main everyone knew had been laid before Christmas so it couldn’t possibly be propane. It did smell very like propane, mind you.
Finally he and the engineer followed the supply pipe downhill towards the gas main location, but before they got there they came across disturbed ground. Buried under a scattering of earth and connected to the farmhouse pipe was a propane cylinder. Rab has been the laughing stock of the district ever since.