So... it being hot and all that, and cooking over a hot stove being rather oppressive at times, my eyes recently drifted to my gas barbecue, which has not been used for some time. After duly scrubbing and cleaning, soaking hotplates and all that, it looks fairly all right to go, and a brief test on the weekend with all the burners lit showed no problems.
All seemed right for the big test, and out I marched last night with the sausages all ready to go, lit 'er up, put the sausages on, and away they went. Because I've had experience with this BBQ being relatively slow, I thought I'd drift over and start stuffing old boxes into the recycling bin. And it was then that I heard the ominous whoof.
What should I see when I turned my head, but a sheet of flame a foot high, licking around the hose, the gas regulator, and the valve of the top-full 9kg gas cylinder.
And that - with visions of being explosively co-mingled with my dinner running through my head - is the moment at which this post got its title.
Fortunately, there were a couple of old dishrags lying close to hand, with which I had been cleaning the old beast. Several hefty beats at the flames later, the small inferno was clear enough of the valve that I could reach in and turn it off.
Needless to say, I now trust neither barbecue nor hose nor regulator. Barbecued pathology_doc? DO NOT WANT.