Come to think of it, Hemel Hempstead's not too safe either
A mere 20 years after my near-drowning in Portugal, an older and wiser me was living in delightful Hemel Hempstead (famed for its 'magic' roundabout and, err, some other stuff probably).

Now I was living in a delightful flat above the parade of shops in a little place called Leverstock Green on the outskirts of town. A sleepy little hamlet, handy for my commute to work, and with rolling fields overlooking the industrial majesty of tank 912 of the Hertfordshire Oil Storage Terminal, more commonly known as the Buncefield depot. Of course, I didn't know this at the time, but I was living next to (well, across just a few hundred metres of open fields) what was about to become the biggest explosion in peacetime Europe's history.

As alarm clocks go, this was a doozy.

At 6.01am, my room was brilliantly illuminated by a flash. I woke to see the curtains above my head fan into the room, despite the windows being closed. Odd, thinks I. Even odder to see the windows themselves bow inwards a little.

The noise and the shockwave felt as if they arrived at the same time. The entire house felt as if it was at sea and seemed to roll up and back down again. I was pitched out of bed and heard the most deafening CRUMPPPP.

My first thought was that someone had lit the petrol tank of one of the cars parked outside. I scrambled up and looked out of the window. Nothing there in the car park... but it struck me as somewhat odd to see an enormous column of flame rising up on the horizon. 'Well,' I thought, still a little dazed with being woken in such a manner, 'not my problem,' and promptly went back to bed.

Unsurprisingly, I couldn't sleep and after a few minutes got dressed and went to investigate. There were hundreds of people milling about, some still in their pyjamas trying to figure out what was going on. By the time I'd got a bit closer to the flames and continuing explosions, the police had closed off access so all I could do was go back to my flat and watch the fireworks. It was an awesome sight, close up.

In the cold morning light, I realised that the front door had been blown out of true and was slightly diagonal in the frame. It was a bloody close escape to not have been showered in broken glass that morning.

Funniest bit was getting phone call from my housemate who'd been away for the weekend. He was so disappointed that he'd missed 'the only interesting thing to have ever happened in Hemel.'
( daikoku has been on a ragga tip since, Sat 21 Aug 2010, 19:18, 3 replies)

I was living in Tring when that went off - woke me up.
(Freakmandu, Sat 21 Aug 2010, 20:03, closed)

Things don't get more interesting than that in Hemel!!
( Vambo, Sat 21 Aug 2010, 20:58, closed)

I disagree!
In the late 70s I was walking North on the dual carriage way out of town, up towards the M1. I forget the road name, as I haven't been back to Hemel since. A car, about 100 yards ahead of me, crashed, and a toddler (clearly not restrained in a BS-approved car seat) crashed through the windscreen and flew, Superman-like, down the road until a large road sign brought an untimely end to both its trajectory and its life.

Affected me greatly, that did. 30-odd years later, and a father myself, I won't even think of starting the engine until all minors in the car are buckled in. The memory of the still and silent body makes me shiver even now. And those poor parents.

Still, just goes to show Hemel can be exciting...
(IHaveComeAmongThee__Twice Tissues on the left. Self-esteem on the right., Sun 22 Aug 2010, 3:16, closed)