Fire

I love it when my clothes smell of smoke, like they do tonight, but thought wildfires were in mainland Europe… until the farmer’s field 100 yards away caught fire at about 4pm this afternoon. Ye olde good neighbours of the street went out with buckets and wheelie-bins full of water – even hoses for those closer – whilst our next-door neighbour’s son went out with a can of cider. “I don’t think you’ll put it out with that Sam,” I said, “But we sure do appreciate the sacrifice.” Meanwhile, the fire engine had turned up at the bottom of the field. Luckily the wind blew it downhill towards the river where the said fire engine was doing its thing, and another fire engine shortly turned up in our road and went up and down for the next four hours to the water supply in a hole (one of those square-shaped covers in the roadway) at the other end of our street. And who doesn’t enjoy watching firefighters through the window? Don’t answer that! I make light of it, but with a different wind direction, we could all have been that farmer’s field.

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