Setting Christmas Pudding on fire.
Doesn't seem sensible.
But I don't suppose many traditions are, are they?
So on Christmas day, after eating so much food that you can't breathe, dessert comes out.
Dad put the Christmas Pudding on the table.
Sister: Are you going to light it?
He walked off the kitchen and came back with a bottle of brandy and a box of matches, and dropped them in front of her.
Dad: Not too much.
I imagined my dear sister might take a spoon and pour out the brandy in measured quantities. She unscrewed the lid and tipped.
Quite slowly, I'll admit.
But for a long time.
Lets just say she made sure the whole pudding was covered.
And there was a little moat of alcohol around the pudding.
[see the moat? i not lie]
Then she set it on fire.
Everyone marvelled and wowed happily.
Except our small visiting friend.
Small Boy: I can't see anything.
Sister: Look here - the flames.
Admittedly it's a little hard to see small blue flames.
He peered closer.
And seemed unconvinced.
Sister: Should I just pour some more on? [lifting the bottle, ready]
Me: You'll set the whole bottle on fire?!
Did you really not know that?? That the flames will travel up the alcohol trail?
Me: I thought you were a doctor.
This concerns me slightly.
So rather than pouring more, she tilted the plate for him, making the flames a bit bigger. He saw. A brief fire conversation ensued.
Then several more minutes passed.
Sister: IT'S COOKING!!
Yep, smells like burning!
The thing is still on fire and is cooking.
After a moment of frantic, failed flame blowing, my sister requests me to help from the other side of the table, which I do, and the flames die.
Christmas Pudding rescued.
Although with a ring of charcoal at the bottom.