And that's terrible. [Certainly nothing to smile about, and Prior's trying.] Something similar happened at a party I arranged catering for. The chef was attempting crepes suzette en mass, when in one second his whites had charred to blacks. He wasn't hurt, thankfully. We even served the dish as the crepes of wrath.

[All of which is a distraction, of course, from the point. He pushes a hand back through his hair - certainly thick enough to be spared, though it would seem disingenuous.]

I'm not sure. The relationship may be dead, but - most of the time - I don't wish the same on him. I think it might make for a bad omen?