Gonna Burn This City

Well, the long and short of it is that we attempted (unsuccessfully, I may add) to burn down our nice prison house.

Due to the excessive laziness of two persons snuggled warm on the sofa, and a little bit of stupidity from one persons and his (apparently horrifically dangerous) halogen heater, we set the house alight. Well done us.

It mainly started because Steve had his heater on in his room, and his vaire expensive coat draped over the back of his computer chair. Steve would then lean back etc, inspiring the little button from his jacket to get entangled with the meshing on the front of the aforementioned heater. He then gets a phone call at about midnight from his favourite housemates (Mel and I, that is - Seb, Sarah and Molly were Arena-ing at the time) to come down to the living room and join them, and nice things like that. As Steve pushes his chair back to vacate the room (imagine this in slllloooowwww motion, if you will), the button remains caught, and the coat is left dangling very very close to the heater. Downstairs, we are having a lovely chat about many nice things when a horrible, disgusting, ear breaking noise starts - it's the fire alarm. We leap up - I spill my drink all over my pyjamas and blanket - and try to search for what has made the alarms go off. My first thought is that Molly, who had borrowed my straightners, may have left them on in her room, and in a bizarre and very unusual act of bravery, I run up to the top floor to turn them off. Except, half way through this running, I think through what I am doing, entirely rethink this bravery thing, and run back downstairs. Yes. Good isn't it. Anyway, as I pass Steve's room, I smell acrid smoke, seeping under the door. Which makes me panic. A lot. So I yell. And then Mel insists we all go outside. At this point, Steve rushes into his room and closes the door.

Outside the house, in the rain, wearing attractive pyjamas and panicked expressions, stands me, Mel, Dani (who had been asleep on the top floor) and Alex. No sign of Steve. We call the fire brigade, in practical hysterics as Steve has still not emerged from his room. Whilst talking to the fire brigade phone lady, Mel is screaming, "GET OUT OF THE ROOM, STEVE, COME OUTSIDE, STEVE, STEEEEEEEEVE" etc. Smoke is still pouring out of the room, and the alarms are still sounding. Our ASBO giving neighbour is standing outside his house, smoking a cigarette and looking mildly interested. Steve eventually emerges from his room, telling us he's sorted it out, that it's nothing, and everything is all fine now.

We ring back 999 to inform them that, thanks very much, but we won't be needed their services.

They tell us that they're going to send someone anyway. At this point, I had managed to silence the alarms (somehow - no one will ever know), and now we are just five freezing students standing on the door step of the house in brightly coloured pyjamas. Looking a little bit mental, it has to be said. My spirits drop further when I see in the distance flashing blue lights. My heart sinks as a full blown fire engine with actual firemen on board pulls up outside our house. With embarrassment, and a tiny bit of hysteria, I notice another fire engine parking up behind it, and I start to giggle at the absurdity of having two fire engines, and no fire. But they're not done. Yet ANOTHER fire engine arrives directly behind the first two, and by now, I am laughing so hard I can barely contain myself.

As the first fireman enters the house, I find myself apologising profusely. And then also to the next one. And the next one. Mel and I are a mix of giggles and apologies, as our house fills to the brim with about ten dashing firemen - one each and a couple to spare. As we are ushered into the living room, they bring out a MASSIVE fan in order to blow all the toxic plastic smoke out of the house. They take Steve's name, give us a lecture about the dangers of halogen heaters (Steve's is now in the bin, being that it has melted all down the front, and gives off a smell of death). They leave, but forget three of their firemen, which we are not to disappointed about, it must be said. Sadly, they also leave, the fire engines drive off, and we are left alone, fireless, and a bit depressed.

Mel and I refuse to go to sleep, as there are now no fire alarms that work in the house, and so therefore stay in my bed til eight in the morning, talking about nonsense, and worrying about fires.

The moral of the story is: fire brigades are nice, if a little of exuberant with the fire engines.