Burn, baby, burn

I had a burny day today.

First, toast. The last two slices of bread, to be exact.
Burnt to buggery.

Then (intentionally at least) charred peppers as part of my pastafest dinner. It's fun, burning things on purpose. Maybe that's why men enjoy the barbecue season...

Thirdly - and most spectacularly, a tea towel I had inadvertently left lying too close to the gas burner as I cooked the tea. Suddenly, alarmingly, went WHOOSH as it was engulfed by flames.

And finally, in the same blaze, I managed to melt the handle of my favourite butter knife. One of this old-fashioned ones with a ivory-look handle (butit'snotreallyivorythankgoodness -those poor elephants).

The biggest surprise was my aura of calmness amongst potential kitchen carnage. My inner goddess calmly extinguished the fiery tower with a flick of the wrist and NO sweary words.

Maybe watching Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music has rubbed off and I have sprouted ladylike tendencies, finally.

After the situation was under control, I calmly walked through to show husband the meltificated knife and relayed the drama he had missed while he had been engrossed(?!) in The One Show. He was most impressed that he had heard not a peep from the scene of the crime.