Always know where your towel is !!
Created | Updated Mar 23, 2002
So there I was, watching TV at midnight, when suddenly there was this almighty crash from the flat below.
Well, being the type of person I am, (doesn’t meddle in other folk's business, isn’t nosy etc. etc.), I naturally used the ever handy remote control to turn the sound down on the TV, looked out my third floor window, and listened to see if I could hear anything else. Another bang soon followed along with the sound of breaking glass, and something that sounded like a roar.
Then there was a loud, desperate, knocking at my front door. “Damn it” I thought, (or words to that effect), “There’s a nutter in the stair”. Putting the chain on, I opened my door to find John, my downstairs neighbour, barefoot in his dressing gown, shouting “FIRE!” Unfortunately, even the smoke gently wafting up the stair didn’t give me any hint of a clue. I just looked at him blankly as he continued... “In my house......Fire......Get out......There’s a Fire in my Hou.......”.
Shutting my door in his face, (the penny having dropped), I proceeded to start thinking about what one does in these types of situations, and of course could only remember the fire drills carried out at my office. So it’s quite understandable really that I proceeded to head straight for my fags and my ‘suitcase’ of a bag. I also picked up the cordless phone and actually took great delight in making my very first 999 call whilst putting on my shoes and coat. It turned out to be quite difficult to hear the nice lady on the end of the line asking “Which service please?”, while the smoke alarms, fire engine sirens, and bus and car horns were blaring all around me. Assuming she had got the message, I hung up and opened my front door only to be met with a wall of thick, black smoke.
Well, I’ve seen all the disaster movies you can think of and remembered something about a towel, (picture Robert Wagner in Towering Inferno). Shutting the door again, I looked round and saw a convenient bath towel hanging on the hall radiator. So, deciding to relinquish my only means of communication with the outside world, I threw down the cordless phone, picked up the towel, and went out into the stair landing. It was only once I was out there that I remembered you’re supposed to wet the flipping thing first!
So with my bag over one arm, and superfluous, (dry), bright orange towel over the other, I cautiously made my way through the smoke. I could hear someone shouting “Is there anybody there?” and was met by a young chap I didn’t know from Adam who took me by the arm and led me all the way down the stair. He didn’t let go until he had directed me out of the main door, away from the glass and sparks falling from above, passed the three fire engines and associated uniforms, then across the road - into the crowd of people spilling out of the pub opposite, glasses in hand, to enjoy the fireworks.
Trying to look nonchalant and casual, but feeling like a complete idiot, I was suddenly cuddled by a (slightly inebriated) girl and only then realised that I was shaking. “There, there,” she said, “you’re o/k.” then added “Oh great you’ve brought your towel !!”. I decided not to fight with her as she struggled to put the damned thing over my shoulders.
Then I noticed poor John. He was wandering about looking extremely distraught, still barefoot and blackened with the smoke. I thought to myself “If anyone deserves a cuddle and this flaming towel it’s him”. So thanking the girl for her kindness, I duly caught up with him and did the needful, (pausing only briefly to notice how well the towel went with the colour his dressing gown).
Apologising continuously for being the cause of all this upset, his next words were “have you got a fag?". (Why is it only when disaster strikes that folk are willing to take one of my infamous low tars!!). Lighting up, and calming down, we joined the rest of our neighbours who were sheltering in and around one of the fire engines, debating the chances of getting the stair redecorated on the strength of this.
Then the ambulance men arrived and decided that John should go into hospital to treated for smoke inhalation, and that I should go with him as the next worst case. They were kind enough to wait while we had another fag before giving us oxygen and whisking us up to the A&E. Suffice to say, I was fine but they kept John in overnight for observation.
As it turned out, John’s flat was gutted whilst mine just needed new windows, and a damn good clean. He’s staying with friends for the 3 month’s it’ll take to get his flat fixed up, meantime he’s returned the towel, ready for it’s next adventure.!!
Well, being the type of person I am, (doesn’t meddle in other folk's business, isn’t nosy etc. etc.), I naturally used the ever handy remote control to turn the sound down on the TV, looked out my third floor window, and listened to see if I could hear anything else. Another bang soon followed along with the sound of breaking glass, and something that sounded like a roar.
Then there was a loud, desperate, knocking at my front door. “Damn it” I thought, (or words to that effect), “There’s a nutter in the stair”. Putting the chain on, I opened my door to find John, my downstairs neighbour, barefoot in his dressing gown, shouting “FIRE!” Unfortunately, even the smoke gently wafting up the stair didn’t give me any hint of a clue. I just looked at him blankly as he continued... “In my house......Fire......Get out......There’s a Fire in my Hou.......”.
Shutting my door in his face, (the penny having dropped), I proceeded to start thinking about what one does in these types of situations, and of course could only remember the fire drills carried out at my office. So it’s quite understandable really that I proceeded to head straight for my fags and my ‘suitcase’ of a bag. I also picked up the cordless phone and actually took great delight in making my very first 999 call whilst putting on my shoes and coat. It turned out to be quite difficult to hear the nice lady on the end of the line asking “Which service please?”, while the smoke alarms, fire engine sirens, and bus and car horns were blaring all around me. Assuming she had got the message, I hung up and opened my front door only to be met with a wall of thick, black smoke.
Well, I’ve seen all the disaster movies you can think of and remembered something about a towel, (picture Robert Wagner in Towering Inferno). Shutting the door again, I looked round and saw a convenient bath towel hanging on the hall radiator. So, deciding to relinquish my only means of communication with the outside world, I threw down the cordless phone, picked up the towel, and went out into the stair landing. It was only once I was out there that I remembered you’re supposed to wet the flipping thing first!
So with my bag over one arm, and superfluous, (dry), bright orange towel over the other, I cautiously made my way through the smoke. I could hear someone shouting “Is there anybody there?” and was met by a young chap I didn’t know from Adam who took me by the arm and led me all the way down the stair. He didn’t let go until he had directed me out of the main door, away from the glass and sparks falling from above, passed the three fire engines and associated uniforms, then across the road - into the crowd of people spilling out of the pub opposite, glasses in hand, to enjoy the fireworks.
Trying to look nonchalant and casual, but feeling like a complete idiot, I was suddenly cuddled by a (slightly inebriated) girl and only then realised that I was shaking. “There, there,” she said, “you’re o/k.” then added “Oh great you’ve brought your towel !!”. I decided not to fight with her as she struggled to put the damned thing over my shoulders.
Then I noticed poor John. He was wandering about looking extremely distraught, still barefoot and blackened with the smoke. I thought to myself “If anyone deserves a cuddle and this flaming towel it’s him”. So thanking the girl for her kindness, I duly caught up with him and did the needful, (pausing only briefly to notice how well the towel went with the colour his dressing gown).
Apologising continuously for being the cause of all this upset, his next words were “have you got a fag?". (Why is it only when disaster strikes that folk are willing to take one of my infamous low tars!!). Lighting up, and calming down, we joined the rest of our neighbours who were sheltering in and around one of the fire engines, debating the chances of getting the stair redecorated on the strength of this.
Then the ambulance men arrived and decided that John should go into hospital to treated for smoke inhalation, and that I should go with him as the next worst case. They were kind enough to wait while we had another fag before giving us oxygen and whisking us up to the A&E. Suffice to say, I was fine but they kept John in overnight for observation.
As it turned out, John’s flat was gutted whilst mine just needed new windows, and a damn good clean. He’s staying with friends for the 3 month’s it’ll take to get his flat fixed up, meantime he’s returned the towel, ready for it’s next adventure.!!
