One of my flatmates in Edinburgh use to make it in our kitchen. Her father was a prison warden, so she was familiar with 'jail juice' concoctions, a cheap familiarity she brought to our boozy little souls.
Anyway, one day a bottle exploded, sending a jet up to the ceiling, where all her clothes dangled from the drying rack.
She smelled like ginger for weeks afterwards. There's worse things to smell of, I suppose.