Bloody scallies.
As a student in Salford in the mid '90s I was used to being woken from my alcohol and marijuana induced semi-coma by the sounds of the local kids shouting, smashing stolen cars and generally misbehaving.
One morning in 1995 [I think] they really overdid themselves. This particular morning they had, somehow, managed to find the world's biggest firework and make it go off outside the window of the 19th floor flat I was sleeping in. To give you some idea of how loud it was, through double glazing, I would generally sleep through a fire alarm most mornings (we had a few).
Well, briefly roused from my slumber, I cursed the little scallies and went back to sleep.
An hour or two later I went to the communal kitchen for a drink, only to be greeted by a couple of my flatmates asking "did you hear it!?!?", "Have you seen the height of the cloud!?!?" and "Do you think anyone was killed?".
Turns out that it wasn't some scallies in the estate that woke me -- but some pricks that called themselves "The IRA".
Oh, sorry, the "lucky escape" angle? I did keep thinking about getting up early and going to town.
(Me, I'm not... in any way intoxicated, Fri 20 Aug 2010, 17:47, Reply)