The Night I Set Fire To Myself While Dressed As The Grim Reaper...
In Hungary, on a student exchange, I noticed that all the pubs and clubs were deathtraps as far as fire was concerned - no fire exits, inadequate lighting, unlit staircases leading to dark underground bars, etc.

One night I had hired a Grim Reaper costume, comlete with mask and scythe, for a party in a particularly dangerous cellar-bar. It had one entrance/exit, with a narrow spiral staircase, and a ledge running round the whole place at waist-height with naked tealights placed at short intervals.

Everyone else in the place was quickly plastered on the local Hungarian plum brandy stuff, while I was leaning back thinking 'this place is dangerous, I may have to consider staying sober for once.'

Sudenly, I noticed that my back felt hot. I had leaned on a candle and my costume was smouldering. I leapt onto the dance floor and began leaping around, trying to slap out the flames on my back, desperate to avoid having to drag it over my head and burn my face.

I had frenzied visions of being a human fireball, careering round the club, starting a deadly burning stampede up the pathetically inadequate single spiral staircase.

Meanwhile, the rubber Scream mask muffled my screams and the locals didn't understand English anyway. All they saw was this eccentric English student, sportingly doing the latest British disco-dance to amuse her drunken friends.

By the time the fire was out they had lost interest and resumed their palinka-drinking. I escaped with a few minor burns to my hands and the task of explaining to the costume shop staff why I'd burned the back off their Grim Reaper frock. Sorry, me no talkee Magyar, mate.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Sat 5 Nov 2005, 20:56, Reply)