I DON’T know what’s wrong with me – I keep burning myself.

This is most irregular as I can usually be relied upon for my poise and grace.

If it’s not hot fat, it’s the sun or boiling beverages. It might be because 1) I’m very ill 2) I’m freezing 3) the energy I am vibrating is out of sync with the real world or perhaps it’s 4) payback for last week’s column.

On our busiest day of the working week, I was on the phone to a colleague (fortunately) while another colleague handed me a cup of coffee. However, for some reason the WHOLE contents of the very large mug of steaming coffee just poured down my front into my lap and down my legs.

I was dumbstruck for several seconds before shouting down the phone: “AAAGH, *?!*!!, I’ve just burned myself really badly... I have to go...”

I slammed the phone down and ran into the bathroom, ripping my clothes off on the way, before throwing ice cold tap water over myself.

“Karen, are you OK?” said one colleague, trying to open the door.

“You can’t come in, you can’t come in, I am naked, I am naked,” I hollered, forgetting the rest of the office are within earshot.

Seconds later as I was clambering into the world’s smallest sink – desperate to ease my burning skin – two colleagues waved two filthylooking tea cloths through the crack of the door.

“We are first aiders,” they chirped. “Put these in cold water and dab your injuries.”

Dab my injuries? Dab? I needed total submersion, like I was starring in my own grown up christening.

I was more likely to contract a hideous disease from those grubby cloths than stop my scarlet skin from blistering.

But because I was gripped by fear that I would have to go to the burns unit for a medic to treat my blistered bits, I didn’t care and grabbed them.

Eventually I returned to my desk, dripping wet from a pair of fetching shorts, of which I had fashioned from the tea towels complete with hand-made burn pads from paper towels, which I wore under my dress.

Fortunately my honed medical skills prevented any lasting damage.

Unfortunately my colleagues now think I am a clumsy clod, and I am only allowed to drink lukewarm drinks with a beaker lid and plastic bib.