Firewalking after dark on our bard’s birthday. What would you call that, cryptic crossword fans? (5-6, 5, 5.)

Aye, that’s right: Third-Degree Burns Night. That was the name of a fundraising event on behalf of ENABLE Scotland, which campaigns for children and adults with learning difficulties. And if that sounded like an advert, good. So will this: http://enable.workwithus.org/

It was a great night. The smell of roasted bunions, barbecued verrucas and my driver Euan’s melted galoshes all wafted on the cool evening breeze.

Once again, I was mobbed in a manner befitting the celebrity wot I am. Anyone would think I was selling tubs of Luca’s vanilla for burnt walkers to step into.

A woman who was clearly overcome with affection even lay across my bonnet, stroking my fur. (I think that’s what the police call “grooming”.)

Another memorable moment: a number of break dancers performed some energetic moves that managed to involve me. It was a wee bit painful, but nothing too serious. After some intensive physiotherapy, I quickly regained the use of my aerial and brake lights.

Despite the occasional screams and ambulance sirens*, a fine time was had by all. See the pics for yourself.

*No, not really.