Do I or Don't I tell them? I didn't.
Being a Man, I obviously have full control and mastery over anything that involves fire, mending stuff with a hammer and excellent judgement about far reaching consequences of actions.

One bonfire night when Tesco were doing a 2-for-1 deal on dodgy Chinese fireworks (Think Sohni, not 'Standard') I got a couple of boxes for the delectation of my 8-year old daughter. Did the safety thing (kept them in a tin, used only a safety fuse, read the instructions using only a torch...yeah, right)but what I definitely didn't do is push the long multi-shot 'mortar bomb' into about an inch of soggy earth in the garden before lighting it.

The first shot puffed up violently in a ball of incandescent rose flame and the recoil kicked the tube over onto its side- but there were a number of shots yet to go and it was still sizzling away. What to do? Panic rising as the next shot fired out across the ground, pirouetting the tube around to a new random angle. Shit, how many shots do these things have? 6? 10? another one cracked out, again jerking the tube around with the recoil and as I reached for the emergency bucket of wet sand that I definitely already had prepared for such an eventuality (ahem, of course I did..)the next shot arced out across the garden and immediately its flaming green ball set the neighbour's pampas grass alight.

Because it had been one of the driest Octobers in the month previously, this stuff was dry and crispy and ready to go up a treat. Up to that point the risk was not the still-firing mortar (there was only me at immediate risk as my daughter was inside in the warm and behind double glazing) but the worry the fire would spread and reach up the dessicated garden to their house. Being at night the subtle flicker of softly exfoliating flame on the pampas (apparently some people deliberately encourage new growth by burning theirs) was bright enough to look scary.

All hands to the pump, form a one-man bucket brigade... well, the washing up bowl and a running tap at full blast, legging it up the end to throw over the bush, running back to refill and back up to the grass- good job we had chain-link fencing so the water went through...

The flames were growing quicker than I was able to extinguish them so deciding that shame was better than property destruction I yelled to my ex to call the fire brigade.

As in a lot of small towns in Cornwall, there's no permanent fire brigade so it's manned by volunteers who are 'on call' and therefore have to have a booze-free Saturday night just in case of issues like this, so as they are summoned I'm putting a crimp into these guy's weekend.

As luck would have it I kept on at the basin-flinging routine long enough to keep it at least from spreading more, and then I got the better of it and damped it down properly and hey presto... erm, fire out, brigade on the way.

When they turned up I had to explain what happened and that unfortunately it may have been unnecessary for them to break off their home life on a sober Saturday night after all. So they inspected the mess and left quietly (for which I took around the next day a couple of sheets of beer cans between them as an apology). All this time the next door's lights never came on... maybe they were out?

Turns out he was in the Royal Navy and was on ship on a 3-month tour in the Gulf and she had been staying with her parents upcountry that week so even if next day there were some signs of charring, a week or so later when she returned my ex assured me that there was no evidence left. We never heard anything about it and then they sold the house to someone else so... well, seemed churlish to mention it. So I didn't.
( Rotating Wobbly Hat That's not a banana. THIS is a banana., Fri 16 Sep 2011, 20:48, 2 replies)

I'm from Cornwall.
I'm almost ashamed to say where from (Camborne) as this town has gotten a bit yuck lately.
Where are you from? I almost want to move somewhere a bit more in the sticks, except taxi fares from the pub would be too expensive!
( user_names_suck, Sat 17 Sep 2011, 23:37, closed)

I used to live in Helston but not for the last 9-ish years, however I still go back to visit my daughter
The pub situation in Helston is fairly annoying, apart from the town centre (which does have 7 pubs and a hotel with a bar) there's nothing in any direction except for the New Inn at Wendron which is not walkable, really (although very nice) as you'll be killed walking down the un-footpath-ed road back to town. I've been through Pool/Redruth/Camborne enough to feel like I'd not be too happy to live there either but at least it's not Dudley.
( Rotating Wobbly Hat That's not a banana. THIS is a banana., Sun 18 Sep 2011, 18:52, closed)