Yesterday evening, as I was attempting to get a taxi, a car caught fire. Amazing. White smoke began to pour from the car, followed by the driver and his passenger. Very soon, the white smoke had become black smoke, and flames could be seen. Next thing there was a wooshing sound and fire emitted from under the car in long streaks.
It was at this juncture that I decided to move away from the car lest it explode. It didn't, of course (bummer).
The plastic mouldings on the side of the car started to drip onto the road, and of course, a little river of petrol (or something) had begun to run downhill under the car.
One feels a horrible fascination with these things; I didn't want to get blown up, and yet I couldn't move away either. And then a taxi pulled up. Oh well. Pity I didn't have my camera.
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It's five o'clock in the morning. Dawn is just breaking. I am woken by a series of explosions. Then the alarm goes off. I put my head under the pillow.
The Old Woman springs out of bed and races through the house ready to grapple with whoever or whatever.
She inherits this bias for action from her grandmother. This fine old lady is reputed to have knocked a hole in a wall when her husband was a little slow to install a door.
Underneath the pillow the sound if muffled. Faintly I hear the Old Woman shouting "there's a fire on the front lawn".
Clearly I must do something. I get up and go through to the front of the house.
The fire is not on the lawn it is in the driveway. Our car is burning.
The fire has got past the white smoke stage. There are enormous flames and a great deal of black smoke.
Luckily there is a hose attached to the tap in the front garden. I spray water into the car. More explosions. Neighbours from both sides appear with hoses to help.
The car continues to burn fiercely. Petrol leaks out adding to the inferno.
Kibitzers have gathered. Some are tow-truck operators in search of business. Some belong to the local security company. There are other worthy citizens less easily identifiable. There is much speculation as to the cause of the fire but no consensus.
The flames are now as high as the roof. I fear that the house may catch fire and burn down. Operation Garden Hose goes on.
Eventually a fire engine arrives. The men on board rush in and spray great quantities of water on the burning car.
In half a minute the fire is out.
The onlookers disperse slowly. All except that is, for one tow-truck driver. She presses a grubby business card on me and insists that I call when I want the car removed.
I realize that I am standing in the street in a tatty pair of pyjamas.
The show is over.
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