Last Thursday evening I was sitting in a wine bar with a couple of friends, partaking in some ‘man chat’ (travel, women, football… what else do men talk about? Ah yes, Top Gear). Across the room sat a table of ladies, enjoying a Christmas party. They, too, were busy drinking and chatting (travel, men, netball… what else do women talk about? Ah yes, the X-Factor ).

As we approached the end of the evening, my friend pointed across to the ‘table of ladies’ and casually muttered the words “there’s going to be a fire in a minute.” I glanced across to observe that a handbag, belonging to one of the girls, was perched precariously close to one of the table candles. It seemed that every time the lady leaned over to talk to her friend, her elbow pushed the bag nearer to the candle.

Sensing the danger, I leapt up, as if I’d been bitten on the bum by an steel toothed antelope (quite impressive to behold, believe me), and scampered across the room, in a scene reminiscent of the film Backdraft (for those who don’t know, Backdraft was a film about fire fighters, not a documentary about flatulence). The way I saw it, I had three options: Continue reading →