Baby's first apocalypse
When I was about four years old, my mother set fire to the kitchen. She was like that. This was the 1960s, and our kitchen had these futuristic new polystyrene tiles on the ceiling - and we quickly discovered why they are no longer recommended for kitchens, as droplets of toxic burning sludge rained down from the merrily blazing ceiling.

So I'm four years old staring, down the hall at the raging inferno that had been our kitchen mere moments before. Determinedly, I trotted out into the front garden, scooped up a handful of snow, returned to the hall and tossed a toddler's-hand-sized snowball into the flames.

Satisfied that the crisis had now been averted, I returned to the lounge to read comics.
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Mon 18 Jun 2012, 12:03, 1 reply)

Well, you're still here
So, well done you.
( Ghoti Fingers, Mon 18 Jun 2012, 18:46, closed)