Bournemouth’s burning

I felt like I was the hero of the hour; like I was taking the role of beloved TV actor Richard Walsh from ITV’s flagship series London’s Burning. Except without the nickname of ‘Sicknote’, because I’ve only had about three days off in three years. So screw you.

Anyway, I awoke this morning to a faint smell of smoke. I ascertained it was coming from outside, across the way, and decided it was nothing to pay much attention to. Also, on leaving the house, I looked up the street and saw it was the people who lived there burning some things. At 9am. As you do.

Disaster averted!

But on arriving home at around 1833 hours (6.48pm in real time) I was confronted by a lot more smoke and flames licking up toward a tree on the street. It was clear something had happened, and I needed to leap into action.

Inside I scuttled as fast as I could without actually running or really hurrying up at all. I burst into my room and was confronted by exactly what I expected: leaving both my windows open all day meant my room now smelled a bit of smoke. Disgraceful.

As I went to shut the windows I noticed the tree on the street had indeed caught fire and that the flames were quite clearly out of control. Oh, and a crowd had gathered and people were starting to look quite worried by it all.

But fear not! I did indeed close my windows and no more smoke got in. Once the fire brigade had extinguished the flames and the smoke and ash had dissipated, I once again reopened the windows in order to let the fresh smoky smell of my room air out a bit.

Disaster averted!

I am a hero, just like Bonnie Tyler always wanted.

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