cooker maintenance
note to self (and grungy mates)

cookers spontaneously combust if

A, you dont clean them for a year

B, you forget it is still on after you removed the tuna bake you are cooking - four hours later

C, you attempt to investigate the source of 'that rubbery burning smell' by opening the door of the cooker.

superheated oil + oxygen = scene from backdraft.

and lack of eyebrows.

luckily the conflagration can be contained, mainly by falling over backwards in panic screaming and watching the weighted door seal itself again, thus cutting oxygen out of the backdraft equation.

fun AND education
(magictorch, Thu 3 Nov 2005, 14:05, Reply)

Anti-fire
I'm sure all you dedicated science students have at some point be shown how to make custard bombs... all you need is a metal tin with a tight fitting lid. Stick a pipe through the side of the tin and attach some tubing and you are away.

Our science class gathered in the gym to be shown how much rapidly expanding gas custurd powder generates when blown into a flame. The teacher filled the end of the tube in the tin with powder, lit a candle, hammered on the lid and signalled to the head of the class to blow down the tube.

For some reason he decided to give it an extra big blow. So big that he needed to draw a big breath in first. Unfortunately, he'd already placed the tubing to his mouth.

So - no explosion, no tin lid flying up into the rafters of the gym. No. Just one head of class unable to speak or breathe because his mouth is full of congealed yellow custard.
( chthonic, Thu 3 Nov 2005, 14:04, Reply)

Shell Suits and Alcohol..
Back when we were 13-14, it used to be popular in the summer months to go camping, near a disused quarry close to home. I say camping, what I really mean is, we would find the excuse to be out for the night, so that we could get some illicit carryouts to get pissed up, and sleep it off before home the next day.

One night someone had the idea that we should have a camp fire. So we built what could be described as a mini bonfire out of old pallets, and branches, before going off to score some bottles of strongbow, and cans of special brew. Upon return, we met up with the guys who were guarding the fire, who had managed to get a large coke bottle filled with petrol. This was later used on the fire "to get it started", after a large part of the alcohol was consumed. However, dutch courage was first to hit me, when the question of who would light the fire arose.

So I walked, (okay staggered) over to the fire, and remember clearly smelling the fumes. However, I was in a happy mood, and when I sparked the lighter, and saw a large yellow light, the only thought crossing my mind was "That must be it lit then."

Upon refection, a shell suit would not have been my first choice of clothing for such an operation. Through sheer luck, or grace, I turned calmly around, and emerged unscathed from the fireball, in what my friends described as a scene reminiscent of "Terminator 2".

Kids..tsk
( masakatsu best of all the burger meats, Thu 3 Nov 2005, 14:02, Reply)

(Pissheads + Orange) x Microwave =
It was the year after leaving school, as usual you get the kids that go to uni & the kids that don't. I was one of the kids that didn't but took full use of the opportunity of visiting my friends in uni with the hopes of passing myself off as a student & getting me some hot student ass!

On one such trip I & 2 other non-student friends went to Nottingham to visit our friend who was living in halls at Nottingham Trent.

Got there in good enough time friday afternoon & preceeded to show the student body of Nottingham what real drinking was, by the time it came to making our way back to his halls we were fucked & could hardly string sentances together let alone walk. But this didn't stop us from roaming the corridors of the halls & chatting up any girl we saw. With all this wanderin we got hungry so entered one of the halls many kitchens looking for food. No food could be found bar a bowl of fruit!

I thought it'd be a good idea to "cook" some of the fruit in the microwave & so took an orange & placed it inside, unsure of how long it should cook for we set it to maximum power for 45 minutes & left the kitchen in the hopes of returning later for our meal. Being drunk of course we completley forgot about it until one of our party noted a strange burning smell, we looked at each other & immediatly returned to the kitchen which, to our dismay, was full of black smoke. We emptied the microwave of the evidence, opened the tiny kitchen window & then legged it as fast as we could until we got outside, which is when my friend uttered the immortal words "Don't worry, if it was that bad the alarm would've gone off by now!"

I can tell you one thing for sure about that night, never ask a group of girls for 20p for the pool table when they've been woken up at 4am by the fire alarm & are standing out in the rain in their pyjamas!
---
Im make no apologies for length or girth!
(Podge, Thu 3 Nov 2005, 13:54, Reply)

Bacon Sandwich Monkey Face Total Flaming Disaster + fun fire game + bunsen
Fire Story 1

I was working the late shift at the pub and I got home late feeling a bit peckish so I decided to make a bacon sandwich. I turned on our grimey fat drenched grill to heat up a bit and went to watch the monkeys on BBC Sign Zone. I was so knackered plus the fact that I was so amused by the stupid monkeys grooming and shagging that I completely forgot about grill.

By the time I relaised that I had been superheating the grill for too long it was too late, the fat had caught fire and there was thick black, foul smelling, smoke everywhere. I was quite calm and fetched the fire blanket. The problem was the grill pan had melted and was too hot to remove so I could not cover it. I stood around scratching my head for a bit. Finally I decided the best thing to do was close the grill door, cover the entire oven with the blanket and wait for it to all go away. I spent the next half hour or so milling about in an increasingly smokey room, ocasionally openning the grill door to be met by a gush of flame and billowing smoke. In the end I had to wake everyone and call the firebrigade, my housemates called me prick.

The fire brigade were very good, although I thought it was somewhat unprofessional of the fireman who removed the offending pan to do so using our flowery oven gloves (actually I was also a bit miffed that we were called back into the house by sledgehammer weilding firemen who were saying they would have to smash our fire alarm because they could not turn it off - I pressed the off switch instead).

In the end I caused over £500 worth of damage. Fucking monkeys.

Fire Story 2

As I child me and my brother used to play the 'Firey Rag Game' round my friend's house. It involved using fuel from my friend's dad's petrol lawn mower to douse a leather rag, sets it on fire, and see how long you could swing it round your head. It makes a cool whooshing sound and was really fun, I thouroughly recommend it.

Fire Story 3

Being reminded of this by another fire story makes me realise me and fire really don't mix. It was at school and we were working in pairs during chemistry. Me and my mate Sarab (we both had a reputation for mischief) had to set up a bunsen but as was standard the quality of the safety goggle I had been issued was poor; they were so scratched up that everything looked kinda blurry. Sarab had attached the bunsen and had a match ready so he asked me to turn on the gas tap. I reached over and turned the tap, then Sarab struck the match and we were both narrowly missed by a 10ft jet of flame which set fire to some blinds behind us.

It turned out that I had been so blinded by the so-called 'safety' goggles that I had turned the wrong tap and we had lit that up instead. We stood around momentarily stunned by the spectacle until my chemistry teacher ran over, turned off the gas and rolled up the blind putting out the fire and then promtly sent us both out.
(Meaver, Thu 3 Nov 2005, 13:52, Reply)

What's that smell..?
Mrs Manbutter's old college room mate stays over, gets stinko on Lambrini, sleeps in living room on couch and throws up into 'bin'. Bin happens to be Mrs M's hippy chick aromatherapy cauldron. Smell of her own vomit cooking wakes our elegant houseguest who drunkenly flails around (in own words - after event) "seeking the source of the stench" knocking over 'bin'in process, falls back to sleep. The heating element from the newly busted new age smelly cauldron is exposed and now touching our delicate houseguests discarded underkrackers from the night before. Mrs M walks into living room to see old roomate asleep on couch, pile of cooling vomit and a small smoking grundy blaze in the middle of the living room. She shouts for me. I run into room (half nudey and fresh from the arms of morpheus), step on the sick, realise and smell at same time 'it's sick' sensate and promptly gag, throwing up myself (fortuitously) over the knicker fire. Old roomate is roused by the commotion and starts getting defensively lippy over the shouting and vomiting until she see's the sick and burnt knickers and busted furniture whereupon she starts to sob remorsefully for 20 minutes. You really had to be there - Mrs M took some pictures on her phone but they are blurry and make it difficult to add credibility to the tale. Still - if you are trying to control a small blaze and water is in short supply it wont hurt to remember that, at a pinch, your stomach contents can act as a useful extinguisher.
( Woolworth Smells of festive spices, Thu 3 Nov 2005, 13:47, Reply)

I thought I was so cool
because as a student I could light matches on my front teeth. Hold a Lucifer to your tooth, quick flick of the wrist: ooooh! fire! Looks great. Women swoon*

However, this great trick doesn't work so well when the match is a bit old and the sulphurous tip a bit soggy. On one occasion I did this in the pub and the tip ignited but at the same time lost its tenuous grip on the wooden shaft. It flew in a lovely parabola and landed down the neck of my friend's shirt. He leapt up and started jigging around like a Morris dancer on amphetamines. How we laughed at his plight.

The moral? If you set fire to someone, don't ask them some years later to be Best Man at your wedding, because it's bound to come up in the speeches and your parents won't approve.

* not actually true. May work with substantially better-looking men though.
( Olembe Refuses to write in this space, Thu 3 Nov 2005, 13:35, Reply)

Party at my house one night
guy was in my front room breathing fire (in the minds of health and safety probably not the greatest move) the firebreathing was being done with a can of zippo fuel.
one of the guests, an Acne'd biker decided that he'd have a go. now the technique is to spit the petrol out at the light you have, and you get a great puff of fire, he however took a great big mouthful of petrol, and blew it out. so it dribbled down his chest, then the last bit caught, sending half of his chest and most of his face up in flames.

after three of us had put him out, two of us patting him on the face whilst a third grabbed a jacket to throw over his head. he stood in our kitchen threatening to hit anyone who tried to take him to hospital and peeling off gobs of dead flesh into the sink.

cured his acne though* the only person who could possibly have set his head on fire and come out the other side looking better than before he started.

*this is really really not reccomended as an acne cure. no matter how bad your acne is, petrol and matches are not the answer
(ceebs, Thu 3 Nov 2005, 13:34, Reply)

TV Gold
the first round of this year's masterchef finals in london saw me rustle up a seafood cous cous salad / taboulé (depending on how far your michelin star is stuck up your arse) that even the hallitosis-ridden slaphead greg wallace admitted was 'good'.

feeling a bit peckish i also knocked up a little cheese on toast using a few slices of manchego to be drizzled with reduced balsamic on a slice of oven-griddled bread. with the camera crew looming, the oven's contents garnered the least of my thoughts as my tv-shy finger thrust itself on the end of a sharp knife.

with the delayed plaster now on my thoughts turned to the (more roast than) toast. once out the smoke alarms (in a kitchen?) reacted with an ear-splitting pitch causing derisions of all out pandemonium amongst the crew.

never one to be unduly ruffled, la torode's awe-inspiring interview opener "what's that?" could only be met with "seasoning". i'm not sure if he didn't understand, didn't hear or just couldn't believe what he was hearing so he asked again "what?" so i expanded "chef's seasoning"

set your videos for late feb.....
(chives, Thu 3 Nov 2005, 13:33, Reply)

not not
some men in their late 20s who shouldn't really have been sharing a flat but were ... not entirely a happy experience ... one (called Uncle Bacon) has a habit of necking a bottle of wine in an evening then falling asleep ... on the settee .. but not before throwing some frozen fish fingers and chips into an already rancid grill pan "for a snack" ... falls asleep anyway ... i get in (somewhat less pissed) to find the cooker on fire ... extinguish it heroically ... mind you, that wasn't as bad as when the other flatmate spewed all over the kitchen table (100 per cent coverage, v impressive) and LEFT IT THERE OVERNIGHT ... cue muggins being first up in the morning to find something that looked like several litres of congealed tandoori beetroot covering said table (Quentin: you're a cunt) ...

so i set him on fire, ha*



* okay, not really but there is a theme here ...
( writerblock ... embedding disabled by request on, Thu 3 Nov 2005, 13:32, Reply)

when I was at school
I think I was 13 or 14, the first time using bunsen burners, I turned the gas on, and my match went out, so I tried another match which snapped so after finally borrowing a lighter I managed to light the gas, which by this time had coated the table and was making its way down to the floor.

there was a massive fireball.

There were the usual fires in the woods /down by the river as a kid etc

and the best firewould have had to be in my first year of university, my flatmate flicked a fag butt out the window which caught the autumn leaves then the tree, then the hedge and cause 3 blocks of students to be evacuated. At 4 am on a tuesday morning. (I personally had a lecture at 8am)
( Neon Blue Ah ha ha haa! I feel positively capital!, Thu 3 Nov 2005, 13:26, Reply)

Blue Peter Disaster
On one episode of Blue Peter they showed how to make a pirate treasure map using teabags to stain the paper.
Well I saw this and being 6 years old couldn't wait to get started! Being an inventive 6 year old I had the idea to add scorch marks to the edges of the paper - by dangling the paper on a piece of string over our coal fire.

This proved to be costly. Once the paper was on fire, I had a problem. The string was fairly thick so I wasn't worried about that, I was worried about the A4 piece of paper burning dangerously!
So what did I do? I dropped it on the carpet, ran to get a jug of water and put it out.
The damage was extensive, the hole in the carpet was fairly big, BUT I could hide it by putting a BOOK on it. I left it and went to bed.

The next morning I found my mother had put a large rug over it and never said a word. My father never saw it. I love my mum!
( TN, Thu 3 Nov 2005, 13:26, Reply)

Sun, Sea, Sand, Fire
My father is a major-league pyromaniac ( a trait he has passed on to me ) who uses any excuse to make a fire. The bigger and smokier the better. The need to dispose of things usually gives him the best reasons, be it a pile of branches, a tire found in a hedge, or a wendy house beyond repair.

Once the whole family went for a day at the beach with picnic and what-not. And there right beside our towel and piknick-hamper-delineated private territory we find a huge congealed lump of black stuff, with bits of tarpaulin, pebbles, sea weed, ends of frayed rope and other crap all glued into one unsightly mass. This thing, about the size of a tractor tire, presumably started its life as an oil slick and ended it as a lump of nautical blue-tack that just acuumulated more and more random crap.

Once we had set it on fire it burned magnificently, producing huge amounts of pitch black toxic smoke -- as I have mentioned, it was mostly hydrocarbon in nature. Others on the beach decided to move their bases discreetly away rather than start a fight. It was also obvious that nothing short of an airport fire crew could put out the hellish inferno. Anyway, the fire burned down and ended, as all fire sadly do and I noticed on closer inspection that some molten rivulets of plastic "lava" had run out of the fire and down the beach before solidifying into something resembling bakelite. I broke off the tip of one of these lava flows and put it in a plastic bag to remind me of this happy day on the beach.

On the way home I stuck my nose into the bag to admire my trophy and must have breathed some of the air that was in it which by this time was laced with a toxic cocktail of gas. The result was that within three minutes I was hit by a headache so bad as I have never experienced before or after. I suffered in agonising silence all the way home and then went straight to bed.

I wonder what those fumes did to my young and underdeveloped brain.

Apologies for length. I should be debugging a program but found something better to do.
(caspar_ghodd, Thu 3 Nov 2005, 13:23, Reply)

Firearm folly
I spent a few years in the ATC (air force cadets) as a teenager. It’s fair to say that a few of us didn’t always observe all rules & regulations, especially where firearms were concerned.

All rifles and ammunition were meant to be secured behind at least two locked metal doors; however one of the adult officers’ sons was in the cadets with us and was not averse to stealing his dad’s keys, so occasionally we could run around in the local woods at the weekend with .22 and .303 rifles pretending we were real soldiers. But only the rifles mind, never the ammo.

One day a bunch of us were doing some work clearing the grounds where our HQ (well, ok, hut) was situated. All plant matter & wood were piled up into a big bonfire behind the hut, and at the end of the day we sat around the fire all pleased with ourselves.

At one point the adults went off to buy us some food & drink to reward us for our efforts. The officer’s son sloped off too, then reappeared a minute later with a strange grin. He flung a handful of shiny things into the middle of the fire and promptly ran like fuck, loudly recommending us to do the same.

Everyone just sat still looking at each other in confusion, unsure what he’d just done. Then all of a sudden

BANG!

The wooden fence nearby suddenly wobbled and a big crack appeared in it.

BANG BANG!

It dawned on everyone at pretty much the same instant that the silly cunt had thrown a handful of live .22 bullets into the fire.

We then elected to follow his advice and run like fuck.

When the grown ups returned half an hour or so later they found everyone back by the fire, strangely subdued, sat in strategic positions against the hut wall & surrounding fence (to cover the damaged bits!), all hoping to fuck that this lad had told us the right number of bullets he’d thrown on and that we’d counted the bangs correctly…
(Ali Bongo 9000 Ali Bongo 9000, Thu 3 Nov 2005, 13:16, Reply)

Future fire?
Its only now that I read some of these that I got on to thinking about how fate has conspired against me. I'm not really a very spiritual person. But my mum went to see one of those fellas who tell you about your future about six months back. She came back telling me to be careful with candles and curtains... And mentioned the colour orange. I thought nothing much of it from then on.

Four months down the line and me and the girlfriend were planning the colour scheme we're gonna put in our house when we move in together in the next couple of months. The bedroom is gonna be brown with shades of orange.

We decided to pick up a few things so that we're not having to buy for the house. Namely some orange candle holders for the window bottom.

I think I'll be giving them a wide berth just in case.
( beefandcheese, Thu 3 Nov 2005, 13:15, Reply)

....i'll teach you to burn!
Ok so i'm about 14 and just found a copy of an illicit online publication that teaches bored/disgruntled youth's how to make various explosives.
Being of the said age and pocket money only being a fiver a week me and my best mate decided to go for the cheap option: NAPALM!

So we buy petrol and find the other main ingredient (not telling :-p ) and then go down the local forest and start making this stuff.
I'm standing there mixing the stuff up in a plastic bowl with my bare hands and my two mates decided to put on napalm on sticks and play 'Jedi' or whatever the feck it was they were trying to do. It was all fun and games til one of them smacked the others stick from his hand which then landed in the bowl i was working in.

What followed was me with flaming hands trying to pat them out against my petrol soaked jeans "oh dear" says I, as I go up in flames.
My mates leg it, i stop drop and roll and then after im out i stand up to see the inferno now in front of me and turn and leg it.
I got about 20 metres away when the petrol can exploded!!! Close shave

The plumes of smoke could be seen for miles but i was left with a great story with which to guilt trip my best mate "yeah you run whilst i burn".....fucker


No apologies for length, you didn't have to!
(Xyphious : Sinkin' Gin since '85, Thu 3 Nov 2005, 13:14, Reply)

Don't worry kids!
Just thought that I would let you all know that I am my buildings official fire marshall.
I have a certificate and day glo arm band to prove it.

So, if you ever find yourself in 'heated' trouble please do not hesitate to contact me via my blog and I'll be there within 48 hours to show you the right way to use a fire extinguisher.

Remember kids, don't play with fire.

(Or do, but only if it gets you on the 'Best' page)
(Spoil Me please, oh, please, Thu 3 Nov 2005, 13:06, Reply)

My brother's hair
I thought it would be a laugh to squirt lighter refill gas into the sucky end of my parent's hoover whilst it was on. Being wise beyond my years, I convinced my younger brother that he should hold a lit match to the hoover's output port thing at the same time. I can only describe the resulting noise as a deep 'crump!', the hoover jumped a few inches and stopped working.

After picking ourselves up and getting over the initial shock we noticed the horrible smell of burnt hair. Thinking it was just burnt hair in the hoover we didn't worry too much.

5 mins later, I hear my brother scream from the bathroom. He came running down the stairs clutching the side of his head where there used to be hair.

Fearing the wrath of my parents, I gave him a tenner (loads when you are 14) to go and get his hair cut.

The parents never knew and could'nt understand why their hoover suddenly stopped working.
( Just Juan Cornetto will take you to the lo-rider show n' flaunt ya on, Thu 3 Nov 2005, 13:01, Reply)

Worried
that her gerbil would get stoned and die (I kid you not)my then gf decided to move his cage to a safe place before we had a party / sit round and get mashed. Hours later munchies were suggested and a mate of mine volunteered to make cheese on toast. I think it was me that first caught the whiff of burning plastic and I can still remember the horrified look on her face as she remembered that she had put Astro's cage on top of the grill. When we got into the kitchen the poor little bugger was clinging to the top of his cage and shaking like a leaf as my very stoned mate, oblivious to the melting plastic tray of the cage proceeded to make toast. My stoned mate and gf got it together about six months after that and some years later are still together. They do not have pets.
(Carling in a Stella glass Sky high and six thousand miles away, Thu 3 Nov 2005, 12:53, Reply)

Gollum
Last summer, a chap at work came in after the weekend, looking strange. His eyebrows and much of his hair had become very short, his face pinkish and scabbed. This gave him the appearance of a chubby Gollum of Lord of the Rings fame. He'd had a minor accident when setting a bonfire, but it was the manner in which he did it which was so amusing.

The bonfire was built over a couple of days, during the hottest part of August. He also decided that it would be a good idea to contain the fire in a three sheets of steel, of decent thickness, forming three sides of a square with the remaining side open. In order to light the fire he poured some petrol onto the wood, allowing it to "soak in" (or to the rest of us "form highly flammable petrol vapour in the heat"), then bending down, carefully shielded behind metal sheet, reached round and introduced a flame.

So, to recap, sheet metal heated in blazing sunlight, tinder-dry wood placed in said 'oven', half a can of petrol and a naked flame.

The petrol exploded, sending flames, not only six foot into the air, but also out through gap in metal sheets and backwards towards the hapless firestarter.

With hair and face ablaze he ran straight for the nearby pond, slapping wildly at the cranial inferno. Fortunately he managed to put the fire out before having to throw himself in with the fishes.

The Gollumesque appearance was almost complete, with even a strange strangled voice, where he managed to scorch his mouth and throat in the explosion.

Needless to say we were all thoroughly supportive and did not mention his mishap in anyway. To this day, we still don't mention that Mike Lonsdale, who works at DSG, looked like Gollum, on a bad day.
(lardyboy Next stop, Fissplap Central, Thu 3 Nov 2005, 12:49, Reply)

Top tip for you chaps
If you're trying to pull a girl, don't accidentally set fire to her coat.

And Phil, if you're reading this, you still owe me £40.
(Pachey, Thu 3 Nov 2005, 12:47, Reply)

Hot sex
Not one, but *two* separate sexual infernos:

1. I'm in bed with my lovely girlfriend and drinking vigorously and at length from her furry cup. I stop for a breather after a while, whereupon I notice that the room's full of smoke. Turns out that the bedside lamp had toppled over, bringing the bulb into direct contact with a now smouldering pillow. It looked really cool - a gently expanding crater with a malevolent, glowing edge. We chucked it out the window.

2. This time it's the middle of the night in the front room of my shared house, enjoying an illicit, candlelit liaison with someone I shouldn't. Going at it hammer and tongs from behind when I realise that the pleasantly warm sensation in my lower back is now actually rather hot. Hey presto! I had managed to set fire to my shirt on one of the candles.

It was a new shirt, too.
( AntonSporz, Thu 3 Nov 2005, 12:46, Reply)

Like most of the boys...
and, it would seem. far too many of the girls (aren't you meant to be the sensible ones?) I've torched my fair share of possessions, other people's possessions, property...

One particularly decent fireball was the result of being a pretty good chemist at school. It was the winter term, the rugby pitch was covered in snow about a foot thick and I'd been pilfering aluminium from the metalwork shop. I also managed to half-hinch a goodly amount of Sodium Hydroxide. Now the astute among you will remember mixing the two produces vast amounts of Hydrogen.

I thought I'd make a little (ok, huge) balloon, lifted by said reaction. Needless to say, the steel container I used to hold the reagents was far too heavy to lift. Though the massive plastic bags I used to form the balloon part of the contraption did full and sort of hang there, tethered by the strings that attached them to the steel pot.

So I thought "Sod it", and flicked a match at it. It went... nowhere, you see the match hit the bag and melted through but there wasn't enough oxygen around to cause ignition, too much hydrogen, y'see.

I turned around to go, thoroughly dejected, when I was thrown to the ground by the most almighty fireball you have ever seen. My hair was singed, I felt I'd been punched in the back by a giant, and there was no snow for about a 10m radius around where the steel pot lay, no remnants of the plastic bags remained.

I got in a lot of trouble, again.
(Woodgie is back, but for how long?, Thu 3 Nov 2005, 12:45, Reply)

(at least) twenty foot flames
my story now.

I was at a friend's housewarming, in her back yard is a mini-orchard. Plenty of space for 'jolly' morons. We'd brought over loads of wood, but you know how these things go, a few drinks and the old christmas tree seems like an ACE idea.
Pine sap, says my friend. I'm sure I've seen Ray Mears do something with that, says I.

Onto the fire it went.

Fire went higher than her two-story gabled semi.

Then the tree exploded.

Onto people relaxing on deckchairs.

Carnage.
(niceandwarmandhot vive la résistance, Thu 3 Nov 2005, 12:37, Reply)

Fire made it good!
I burnt down the local cadet hut. I was six, it seemed the thing to do.

I was *far* too young to be allowed matches, but being as this was the 70's, the concept of parental supervision being a tad different than today and that shopkeepers would even sell fags to five years olds if they said it was "for my mum", procurement of fire making stuff was laughably simple.

Went into the local cornershop:

Me (in one breath) "please-may-I-have-a-box-of-matches-it's-for-my-uncle-he-wants-to-light-his-pipe" *pant pant*

Few pence handed over (2p I think) and box of incendiary fun called England's Glory matches handed over in return.

I went immediately down the road to the local cadet hut, piled up some dry grass, twigs and branches, set fire to them and watched the cadet hut burning, all halloween orange and chimminey red*

Nissen huts burn nicely don't they?

Bugger all idea why, just seemed like the thing to do. I think maybe I hoped it was full of ammo and would explode like stuff blows up in films like "Where Eagles Dare".

Sadly it just burned for a bit without exploding. Eventually the fire brigade came and put it out. The fact that I was sitting nearby watching and that on being asked if I had seen anything and responded with "I didn't burn it with these matches" sort of gave me away as the perpetrator.

What was my punishment? A trip to the fire station! I went on the pole, inside fire engines, got to ring the bell! It was Ace!

At the end of the trip, the firemen asked me really, really nicely not to burn any more stuff because it might mean that they could get killed fighting the fires.

It's mostly worked. Mostly...



*apologies to Tom Waits
(Wascally Weasel now with 100% fewer jokes., Thu 3 Nov 2005, 12:31, Reply)

Grilled cheese sammy-wich... OF DOOM!
Steps to cause extreme levels of Doom.

1. Turn on stove (high)
2. Place skillet on element
3. Apply a slice of buttered bread, then cheese, then a second slice of bread
4. Allow the cheese to melt sticking the two bread pieces to stick together
5. Attempt the "flip" trick with the skillet
6. Allow your creation to land on the now red hot element
7. Shout obscenities in amazement as the sandwich bursts into flames instantly
8. Beat the flamming mass with skillet
9. Realize your mistake of pounding the food into (and under) the element, making it impossible to smother or remove
10. Reach for baking soda, and extinguish flames
11. Cover up all evidence of occurence..
(Scott_ish got this sig out of a crackerjack box on, Thu 3 Nov 2005, 12:24, Reply)

Butter Smoke
One evening, me and a mate were sitting at home, when we suddenly experienced a communal longing for some popcorn. Running to the kitchen, we soon found a bag of that microwave popcorn which cooks itself in a bag, and popped it in the microwave, returning to the lounge content that before long we would be feasting upon hot buttery popcorn.

One thing that we forgot, however, was the length of time needed before optimum popcorn-ness could be achieved. After about 7 or 8 minutes, we realised our mistake, and ran back to the kitchen to find the microwave, while still intact, completely opaque and filled with a strange yellow smoke. I was still in a state of shock as to the disappearence of our popcorn, but luckily my mate had the common sense to turn off the microwave.

I then thought I would be constructive, by having the 'common sense' to open the microwave. Yellow, buttery smoke poured out, making it impossible for us to breathe, so we did what any person would have done in the situation, and ran, closing the door behind us.

The next day, we woke up to the smell of butter and burning things, so we went downstairs to check on the popcorny mess from the night before. Luckily, there was a window open in the kitchen so the smoke had mostly gone, although an extremely pungent smell remained. Strangely, smoke seemed to still be drifting out from the microwave, and upon inspection, it became clear that under the extreme heat of the microwave, the popcorn had seeped more oil than I knew it could possibly contain, which itself had caught fire, and was still burning with a worrying blue flame.

3 weeks later, the whole house still smells of butter (which in itself isn't a bad thing, in my opinion, but the parents seem to disagee..), and I still don't have the courage to go near the microwave, just in case I accidentally start another oil fire in it..
(superficialfilter, Thu 3 Nov 2005, 12:23, Reply)

baldy embarrassment
i was always fascinated by fire when i was a kid, still am.

once i was sitting in my bedroom - crosslegged and wearing only pants - in front of a small glass into which i was squirting lynx deodorant. i'd fill it, drop my lighter into it, get a big flame... and then i'd repeat the process.

i got a bit cocky after a bit, and just kept on spraying - i knew i was making a big puddle of gas and alcohol fumes. so when i dropped my lighter - WOOF! massive bloody flames! all up me legs!

the upshot was i burnt all the hairs off my legs - except for the bits that were hidden by my one led crossed over the other. looked really odd playing rugby with stripey/hairy/baldy legs for two months til it all grew back.
(big fat lazy man on a sofa is giving his piles a bloody good clawing, Thu 3 Nov 2005, 12:21, Reply)

slow burn
my boyfriend grew up in South Africa for a while, specifically Johannesburg, where it tends to rain but still stay very warm.

One year, he was playing with matches and flicking then into the roof gutter clogged with damp leaves from his roof window. Got called down for dinner, thought nothing more of it.

A few months later, their roof went 'whoomp'.

The firemen find his matches and he got the bollocking of his life. Turns out damp leaves can retain the heat and a dry spell will make them catch fire.

No roof left to speak of.
(niceandwarmandhot vive la résistance, Thu 3 Nov 2005, 12:20, Reply)

My sister has been scared of fire
ever since her school's Christmas party back when she was about 8.

As it was a tiny village school with 40-odd pupils they couldn't afford any proper quality entertainment, so instead just had local parents do their party tricks for an afternoon. All well and good until one extrovert dad (who was by all accounts a bit of a mad bastard) decided to show off his fire-breathing 'routine'.

In actual fact it turned out later that he'd never tried it before and was hoping to pick it up as he went along - and hadn't really thought it through too well as he had a huge bushy Blessed-esque beard.

I sure I don't need to spell out what happened, but pretty much straight away he dribbled some fuel down his chin and his whole head went up. My mum was sat at the back of the room with an emergency bucket of water, but as she jumped up and ran over to put out the human torch she tripped over a panicking toddler and the water went flying... all over the screaming kids.

Eventually the bloke was extinguished and carted off to hospital having swapped his pride and joy facial hair for serious burns - scarring himself and 40 toddlers for life. Happy Christmas!
( Button Man ...a right bottom feeder., Thu 3 Nov 2005, 12:12, Reply)