The fire problem

I was woken early one morning by a hammering on my back door. I quickly changed out of my nightclothes into something more suitable, checked my hair in the mirror, removed the sleep from my eyes, and rubbed some toothpaste into my teeth, to remove the worst of my night-mouth, then rushed downstairs, where I found Alun, waiting impatiently and brandishing a letter.

 

“It’s the mainland council, Jed,” he said, “They’ve appointed me as the island’s Fire Officer.”

 

“What nonsense,” I said. “Why would an island surrounded by water and with just two inhabitants need a fire officer? It’s typical mainland interference.”

 

“You couldn’t be more wrong, Jed,” Alun said. “No-one is safe from fire, but a few simple precautions can dramatically reduce the risk. For instance, did you know that the main cause of domestic fires is smoking in bed. If you switch to smoking in a hammock over a paddling pool of water the risk of fire is reduced 34%.”

 

“But I don’t smoke,” I said. “Nobody on the island smokes. And why would I own a paddling pool, my house is only a few metres from the beach.” 

 

“I’m just saying Jed, it’s one of the suggestions in the guide,” he held up a leaflet written in the mainland council font. “For example, did you know you shouldn’t get overenthusiastic with sticks, as if you rub them too much they can start a fire.”

 

“Overenthusiastic with sticks? Who writes this nonsense.” I snatched the leaflet from him. ‘Everything you could possibly want to know about fire prevention’, it said, ‘by Terrence Oblong’.

 

We argued for a long time without reaching a conclusion. Eventually Alun said he had to go.

“I have to go Jed, I have my compulsory online fire-safety modules to complete for my fire-officer training.”

 

I wanted to protest that you can’t stop fire by reading about fire on the internet, but another argument would have taken hours, and I was already behind schedule with the exciting murder mystery I was writing. Frankly I was glad to be left alone in peace and quiet.

 

xxx

 

The next day I was woken early by a hammering on my back door. I made my way downstairs in an orderly fire-safe manner, to find Alun with a beaming smile on his face.

 

“My uniform’s arrived Jed,” he said.  He gestured to the bright red armband he was wearing, emblazoned with the words ‘Fire Officer’.

 

“You can’t write ‘emblazoned’, Jed, it’s a fire risk,” Alun said (Alun always edits these stories, which is why many of them don’t make it into print until months or even years after the events described).

 

“Oh for goodness sake,” I said, “okay then, try this – He gestured to the bright red armband he was wearing, on which was written the words ‘Fire Officer’.”

 

“That’s better Jed, try and avoid inflammable language, it puts the entire writing site at risk.”

“What does a fire officer do exactly?” I asked, trying desperately to get the story back on course.

 

“I prevent fires, Jed,” he said. “What this island needs, is a comprehensive fire prevention strategy. When did you last test your fire alarm?”

 

“I don’t own a fire alarm.”

 

“But what would you do if there was a fire while you were asleep.”

 

“Probably sleep through it,” I said. “I sleep in asbestos pyjamas and a gas mask so I wouldn’t come to much harm.”

 

“No fire alarm, asbestos pyjamas, you’re not ticking any of the boxes Jed,” Alun said, marking my firesafe and asbestossafe scores on his clipboard. “Luckily the mainland council have send us both free fire alarms to install, and a pair of fire-resistant asbestos free pyjamas.”

 

“They’re yellow,” I said. “I can’t sleep in yellow pyjamas.

 

Thus began a very long argument, which lasted late into the day. Eventually, just to get rid of him, I let Alun install his fire alarm and agreed to wear the yellow pyjamas.

 

xxx

 

The next morning, I was woken early by a loud ringing sound and Alun shouting “Fire” loudly up the stairs.

 

I quickly rushed downstairs, without pausing to change out of my fire-resistant, asbestos-free yellow pyjamas.

 

“Where’s the fire?” I asked, as we reached the safety of the firesafe meeting point.

 

“There isn’t a fire Jed,” he said. “It’s a drill. To see how quickly you safely evacuate the house.”

 

“How quick was I?”

 

“Five minutes 33 seconds.”

 

“Really?” I said. “I thought I quickly rushed downstairs.”

 

“No Jed, don’t be fooled by what you’ve written, in actual fact you dawdled pathetically, losing your way halfway down the staircase, stopping to direct a fart over the bannister rail and pausing for a micro-nap on the bottom step.”

 

“Oh,” I said. “I always thought I was a speedy riser. You’ve never picked up on it on any of your edits.”

 

“I was being kind, Jed. I didn’t think it overly distracted from the meat of the story, but in this instance I can’t hide the fact that your imprompitude in getting out of bed would prove extremely hazardous in the event of fire.”

 

“Impromptitude?”

 

“It’s how it’s described in the leaflet, Jed. ‘Impromptitude, movement-resistant, sluggabedsickle, non-firesafe slowness.”

 

“It’s a terrible leaflet,” I reminded him.

 

“All I’m saying, Jed, is that if you want to safely escape a fire you need to work on your exit strategy.”

The discussion lasted long into the day. By the time Alun left it was almost bedtime, so I quickly had to change out of my pyjamas so I could change into my pyjamas.

 

xxx

 

The next morning, I was woken early by a loud ringing sound and Alun shouting “Fire” loudly up the stairs.

 

I quickly rushed downstairs, without pausing to change out of my fire-resistant, asbestos-free yellow pyjamas.

 

“Where’s the fire?” I asked.

 

“There is no fire,” Alun said. “It’s a drill. I was testing your getting-up speed.”

 

“How was I today?” I asked.

 

“Better. Four minutes and 52.37 seconds.”

 

“Wow, that’s quite an improvement,” I said.

 

“You’d be event quicker if you didn’t stop to practice your badminton serve halfway down.”

 

“But I always practice my serve, it’s the only way my game will improve.”

 

“During a fire alarm isn’t the best time to practice, Jed. You don’t even play. The island’s badminton courts have grown over through lack of use.”

 

“I want to reach a certain standard before I start to play the game,” I said.

 

The discussion lasted long into the day. By the time Alun left it was almost bedtime, so I quickly had to change out of my pyjamas so I could change into my pyjamas.

 

xxx

 

The next morning, I was woken early by a fire alarm, and the next morning, and the morning after that. It seemed I had entered a new hell where every day began with a fire drill, followed by an argument.

 

Then, early one morning, I was woken by Alun screaming “Fire,” lifting me out of bed and carrying me downstairs.

 

“What’s going on?” I said. I wasn’t keen on this new, interventionist fire policy.

 

“There’s a fire, Jed. I wasn’t going to leave you to spend your usual five-minute fire nap, and badminton practice before leaving the house.”

 

“So it’s a real fire. I thought it was another silly drill. Thank you for saving me,” I said.

 

I didn’t remain thanking him for long. Once we’d put the fire out, we discovered the cause of the blaze. It was the fire alarm, it had overheated through overuse.