As I approach our street and see the thick black smoke I know it will be grandma. She was always playing with matches in the house. For example, when she moved into our house from having lived independently for many years, she tried to light the electric element on the stove, not once, not twice, but three times. At least that’s the number of times as far as we know. We had to hide all the matches in the house.
And now my mother has gone off to visit her own mother with her departing admonition being, “Don’t leave your grandma alone.” I had to go to the shop urgently to get some paper for the bathroom, and now look at that smoke rising.
I’ve just one more block to go and I’ll be home. I hope someone already has called the fire department as I don’t want to go into a burning house to look for my phone.
Oh thank goodness! I can see now. It’s not our house at all; it’s the neighbours. The emergency people are there – the fire, the police, even an ambulance. I feel sorry for the neighbours of course, but it’s still a relief. I can see the residents of the house in a group watching so I presume no one is inside.
Hi grandma! Settle down. Being over excited doesn’t help anyone. Now give me those matches.