If you follow me on Instagram or Twitter you may have heard the story of how I almost burn't down our kitchen..
Lets start by saying I may not be the smartest crayon in the crayon box. I took this now rather hilarious 'before' picture with the intention of doing a 'how to reuse old crayons' style craft post.
Long story short it is not wise to assume a instruction to set the oven at 220 is referring to centigrade when it is an American website that uses fahrenheit. Still common sense would have told most people that right?
I set my timer for 5 minutes and three minutes later (when the fire alarm went off) went back in to turn the oven off. When I realised the kitchen was already full of thick smoke I opened the windows and doors and started flapping the alarm to turn it off before waking up a napping Wilf. At that point I didn't actually realise how bad it was. Seconds later I turned around to see the oven was on fire.
I think I may have frozen for all of one second, before I grabbed the nearest towel to hand to wet and chuck in the oven. The fire was still spreading, to me it felt like it was almost reaching the ceiling but afterwards with no evidence of that I think I must that must have been an exaggeration.
There was a moment when the towel did not kill the flames that I wondered whether now was the time to get Wilf and I out, call the fire brigade and leave the kitchen to it until they arrived. Instead I grabbed a blanket from the living room, soaked it hurriedly and bunged it in the oven (which I could barely see so thick was the smoke). It killed the fire but the house was filling with smoke and I ran to Wilf's cot (him still asleep!) and found myself crying and shaking on my neighbours doorstep.
It was at this point I realised I was in my socks and that they were soaking wet. I had smashed a bottle of beer onto the floor when I was flinging the towel in. Later I found I had cut my toe but I don't really have any relocation of the two things happening at the time.
My neighbour made me a cup of tea and we went back to the house together, opening all the windows and sweeping up the glass. Wilf and I sat in the front garden whilst my Sister In Law came round with biscuits. The house by this point just smelt like candle.
I think that most of all the thing that has shaken me up mostly about all this is the 'what if'. For days now I have tormented myself with different scenarios. (My SIL even pointed out to me that I was in-fact putting out a fire in a highly flammable floaty skirt, there were so many points in which that could have caught light.) Really though it was the fact that Wilf was here, upstairs in bed, that I am supposed to be looking after him and I literally risked his life over stupidity. Despite so many kind words I just can't let myself off that one.
Three days on and we can laugh at it a little but I am definitely still shaken up about it. Heading home from the park we saw two fire engines go past on the way to our street and I checked off in my head all the things I could have done before we left that may resulted in a fire. Part of me was surprised when we got home to find our house was still standing. I've told Tom that we need to invest in fire blankets, extinguishers and
Oh and here is the 'after'...