I've never been much of a cook. Never have, never will. I always wait until I'm raving with hunger before I actually think about making anything, and by then, I just stare at the fridge, eating whatever I come across like a grazing cow, rather than all that marinate/soak/baste/bake bollocks.
Today I thought "I'll bloody well make an omlette" (Yes, an omlette. Rome wasn't built in a day). I had never made one before, but I don't let little things like lack of experience stop me. So I cracked those eggs, chopped up some ham and onions, threw them in the pan, generally went about my business.
Then I smelt it. Smoke. I thought..."that can't be right..maybe I'm having a stroke". The damn teatowel was on fire. I don't remember picking it up, or where it came from, but the teatowel with the cows on it (teacow-el???) was on fire. "Fuck". I let out a girly squeal, picked it up, promptly burnt myself and dropped it. Now I had a small inferno on my kitchen floor. I filled up a bowl of water and sloshed it on top-crisis averted, phew. And I burnt my omlette. I bet this never happens to Nigella.