So, there's a good reason - many in fact - why I call this blog 'Shayfer's Fire'.
I've been fascinated by the fiery stuff since I was almost burned alive in a tent as a toddler. Too stupid to be frightened, I was hypnotized by the flames and, like a kamikaze moth, I got existentially burned.
From setting fire to strung out bog roll and progressing to camp fires in a copse on a golf course, from the communal blaze at Glastonbury to lone sojourns by a steady fire in the American wilderness, I just can't pull away.
The more years I have under my belt, the more I crave good company by a crackling fire. Getting older has one very distinct advantage over the young - we have stories to tell. Stories of struggle, aspiration, adversity, survival, love, loss and hope. Stories that define who we are and what we've become, they shape us and define our characters.
And what the hell, they're a great way of passing the time in front of a fine blaze and re-enacting the lifeways of our ancestors, in thrall to our primal conscious.