Human torch pearoast, or How I Set Myself On Fire
On a student exchange in southern Hungary a few years ago I went to a fancy dress party in one of the collective deathtraps Hungarians laughably call nightclubs.

This one was in a shop cellar, with one way in and out - a single spiral staircase - and a waist-high brick shelf all the way round, which held lots of tea lights. The place was heaving with drunkards of many nationalities.

Dressed as the Grim Reaper, complete with Scream mask, I leaned back thoughtfully to assess the risk... and touched a tea light, which set fire to the back of my costume.

I ran onto the tiny dance floor, alternately flapping my arms to put the flames out and trying to rip off the black gown, which partially melted onto my back.

Nobody can hear you scream... in a Scream mask.
Everyone thought the crazy English woman was showing off a few decadent Western dance moves. Nobody helped me. I think some clapped and tried a few steps themselves.

The fire luckily went out, leaving a big hole in the back of the costume. I returned it next day and scuttled out of the shop muttering 'sorry no speaky Magyar...'
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Thu 9 Apr 2009, 18:46, Reply)