All my life I’ve been a tea drinker. There are pictures of me with tea in my bottle (thanks grandma!) and with my British heritage, not drinking tea wasn’t an option. I came to coffee very late in the game. I was well into my 30s before I could stand the taste of non-specialty coffee. You know, the kind without all the artificial flavours and sweeteners that costs an arm and a leg and has half of your daily calories in a venti? Yeah those didn’t count in my “I don’t drink coffee” phase. Now, I quite enjoy a nice cup of coffee with milk and a very small amount of sugar with my breakfast. Until Wednesday that is. I’d brewed a pot of coffee, and gone to my “office” (currently the couch in the family room in the morning because the dog likes to snuggle beside me and I quite enjoy that) when I caught whiff of the unmistakable aroma of burning plastic. The coffee maker had set itself on fire. The torrential deluge we experienced was good for something as I took out the carafe and put the whole thing outside on the porch, then dropped it into the bin once it was well and truly out. I should mention that the fire was contained inside the machine at the time.