Burning down the house

No. I'm not talking about that Cardigans/Tom Jones song (and I'm sure it was a cover of another song). I'm talking about the fact that I nearly burned down my kitchen, then my apartment, followed by my building last night.

It's starting to get a little chilly, so I decided to get some chestnuts and roast them. They are so nice when they go all warm and mooshy inside.

So after working out how to use the griller and nearly asphyxiating myself from the gas, I walk away for a couple of minutes. Then I hear this crackling noise. I think the chestnuts are exploding, even though I made incisions in the shell.

You see, I had put paper in the bottom of the tray, underneath the chestnuts and this caught fire.

When I ran in, the first thing I of course think is have to put it out. I turn the griller off, grab a towel to beat the flames, open the window and then realise I can just shut the griller door, deprive the fire of oxygen and be sweet.

I can't believe that whole process took no more than 3 seconds. I'm quite impressed as well with my attitude under immense, IMMENSE pressure.

It was all sorted. I have no smoke alarm. Very dangerous. I will have to call the devil myself (name for the landlord) and arrange to have one installed. There is black crap everywhere. But I do however love the smokey smell in the kitchen.

More tales of Deb's Mishaps to follow.