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)