Angela and Terry had been maturing a special hot sauce for almost a year in two-litre wine bottles: black peppercorns, onions, sliced bell-peppers, coriander and garlic steeped in oil and rum with the red, yellow and green chilis and ‘Special Jamaica Hot Powder’ from the Caribbean market in the centre, tiny Brazilian needle peppers and some from Thailand (or Japan: they weren’t sure). Terry pulled a bottle down from the top cupboard to examine the luminescent liquid inside. “Perhaps we should test it?” he mused indecisively, then taking courage and the cork in both hands he eased it open, spilled a drop onto a teaspoon and lifted it to his mouth.

“Eeeehshitfuckingshitchristhfuckfuck!” He dived for the sink to wrench the tap open, soaking his jacket as he forced the jet into his mouth. It was the hot tap, which seemed to intensify the agony. Steam trickled from his nostrils and his whole body twitched.

Angela fussed hopelessly behind him, picked up the spoon from the corner where he had hurled it and noticed there was now a hole in the electroplate.

As the blisters on his lips grew too huge even for obscenity, Angela decided she should call an ambulance.

“Oh god in heaven and satan on earth”, moaned Dr. De’ath, “I suppose we have to, though I’d happily sacrifice a good ambulance and driver to put them all over a cliff.” He washed down two Valium tablets from the drugs cabinet with a splash of antiseptic alcohol in 5% glucose solution.