Last night I nearly got the chance to try out my new vibrating/flashing all-singing-all-dancing fire alarm – except I was out at the pub.
On returning from the pub – where we came second in the quiz and won some lovely cider glasses, the acrid smell I had smelt the time my neighbours actually did burn their flat down, greeted me. It had me in a flap. My heart was racing and my eyes were imagining the strobe light of my alarm before I’d even got through the door.
There, Friend Who Knows Big Words was able to find out from French Boy, who had passed on the pub quiz in favour of watching football, that there had indeed been a fire – a very little one, in the form of a smoking tubigrip bandage.
You see, since he fell down a waterfall in Vietnam and trashed his ankle, poor old French Boy has been limping. To alleviate the pain, he’s been wearing a support and last night, in an attempt to get rid of a loose thread, he burnt the said loose thread and rested the tubigrip bandage on the suitcase in my spare room.
But the tubigrip bandage had other ideas and continued to smolder – burning a hole in itself in the process and melting the suitcase.
‘My carpet?’ I gasped on returning.
‘Unscathed!’ was Friend Who Knows Big Words reassuring reply.
‘French Boy?’ I enquired.
‘Thankfully not wearing the bandage at the time of the fire…’ she added.
It was scary though – and made me all the more thankful for my flashing, vibrating fire alarm.
Three cheers for London Fire Brigade I say!
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