So I almost set fire to the kitchen

I do a lot of the cooking in our house. I’m not the most adventurous, but I do it well enough to keep us all fed and watered sufficiently to function. Once I have cooked though I do tend to turn management of food distribution over to my wife, as, if you leave that up to the blind bloke then equality of portions goes right out the bloody window – somebody will no doubt end up with most of the food on their plate and the other with just five grains of rice and a prawn.

So this is what had happened when Patricia was putting the tea out and suddenly came running to find me, shouting that she could smell burning. I could smell burning too, it was the unmistakable smell of well… something burning. A tea towel or clothing kind of burning, not a pan handle or car tyre type of burning.

We frantically checked all over the kitchen several times but the tea towels were fine, none of our clothing seemed to be ablaze, yes the pan handles were all in good order, and my wife fell over the car tyre.

The smell however just got stronger and stronger. All of a sudden Patricia spotted where it was coming from and reached up to grab the roll of tin foil from on top of the wooden fridge cupboard unit thingy. It seems that I had used the foil, stuck it back were I usually stick it back, but this time the cardboard box had been touching a ceiling bulb and over the next twenty minutes had started to smoulder before catching fire.

I felt very lucky. We have lived in that flat for about ten years and that has never happened before. If I’d have been home on my own and that had happened then there’s not a bloody chance that I would have checked on top of the fridge. I mean who would think to look on top of the fridge for a bloody fire? The Fire Brigade probably would have found the chard remains of my corpse in a ‘still looking for fire’ pose, and my comedian chums up and down the country would have no doubt been falling over each other to get the first jokes in about how “at least you can wrap him in the foil to keep him fresh”.

Even worse, we could have headed out before realising something was burning. Worse? Well yes because I’d like to think that if I was at home, I would have had the nouse to phone the Fire Brigade a little before things got too bad. As it happened though, luck was on our side – yes luck.

I mentioned this little story in passing to a lady who lives in my street whilst we were both visiting the recycling bins, and she commented that God must have been looking out for me because he made sure that my wife was at home to locate the burning just in time.

Oh God, yes literally oh God. I’m sorry but not only do I not buy into all that thanking God nonsense, but the fact that other people do makes me angry with them to the point were I want to pull their head off and shake it until they realise that God wasn’t around to help after all. Ok, If there is a God and he does have a hand in that kind of stuff, what the fuck is he doing setting fire to a blind man’s foil? – What a total bastard!

Its like when somebody is taken ill on a plane, and relatives thank God for putting a doctor on the plane to save them. No! – If you’ve really got your heavenly fingers in these mortal pies, then what the hell are you making them ill on a plane for? Surely in the departure lounge would have been a lot handier, or whilst passing a hospital, or here’s a thought… just not ill maybe.

Could God just not have made me put that foil down a couple of centimetres to the right, or even given it a bit of a nudge himself? It doesn’t take a lot to get me riled against stupid God stuff, but rather than just shouting this in the face of some lady that lives in my street whilst she does her bit to help save the planet by keeping her empty jam jars, I thought it better for everybody that I just do it here!

God help me.

…If you have enjoyed reading this then please do share it as every share helps – Thanks!

Sign up to the mailing list

For tour info and news!

powered by MailChimp!

About me...

I am a stand-up comedian from Liverpool. I am blind, and I live with my wife and young daughter in South West London.

Comments are closed.