Talking of lighting things, this weekend my hair went up with rather a smelly whoosh.
Ignore the picture of me atop this column, as I now have shoulder-length hair – and when that connected with a candle, it wasn’t a pretty sight.
The back is now looking bereft of more than one curl. Luckily I was sitting next to a quick thinker at the time, who noticed my flaming crown and unceremoniously beat me around the head.
The smell though, boy did that linger. On and on.
And the crispy bits of curled hair went down my top, outside my top, all over the host’s sideboard and carpet.
Be warned, candles are dangerous. I’m 40, so you’d think I’d know that already, right?