Postaday 2011: Toastie
In three years I lived in three different flats. Each year, the toaster went on fire.
Year One: I had got up early one day to drive to the frozen north through the snow. It was not yet even the crack of dawn and I was trying to be economical with time. So I put the toast in the toaster and then went for a shower and the toaster went on fire when I was in the shower. (Can’t remember anything else. But someone with a good sense of smell must have dealt with it.)
Year Two: a poster on the kitchen wall above the toaster caught fire. It was A-ha, so, lookin’ pretty hot to begin with…
Year Three: one flatmate was in the shower and I was in the kitchen, making – well – toast… obviously – and the toaster went on fire. As it would.
I was standing there, holding an application form for some high powered job or other – and used it to put out the fire. This was not a wise move.
So the application form thing went on fire. Then I chucked it in the sink, or something. Then the whole place kind of filled with smoke and I didn’t really know how it was going to turn out – I was having to go down low to breathe properly, and I thought… I should maybe tell my flatmates.
That was all fine apart from the one in the shower. I wanted to get her out – but somehow didn’t want to panic her too much, in case it was a false alarm and she’d be, like, unnecessarily naked in the street. So I figured out a balance of frantic knocking on the bathroom door with a controlled squawk of urgency.
Must have done the trick, as we all survived. Even my two goldfish, Reginald and Troy, survived the smoke and lived to swim another day.