Several years ago when we were in the early stages of renovating our property in central Portugal, aided and abetted by the manly Penfold, we had a temporary kitchen set up in the main room.
Above the calor gas stove was a shelf where I kept my shaving gear. I leaned over to get my razor and brush.
Yes - the stove was alight.
Yes - my shirt caught on fire, as did the hairs on my chest.
Yes - the TG was there.
Yes - she put it out.
Actually she put me out.
“Go in the garden and roll on the grass – sometime today might be handy” as I stood there in a haze.
I wasn’t in trouble, she never liked that shirt much anyway.
It was one of my favourites.
(I seem to remember a bowl of used washing up water coming in handy as well - the vegetable peelings were quite decorative. Lo,TG Ed)
[My secretary is trying to get on my good side by writing me poetry - just thought you might like to know]
