MY BLOG: Every day for a year.
Day 29. ‘Chips and a firetruck.’

Home alone and I’m a bit peckish! My family had gone out for the day and at my behest, left me in charge. I only had one job on this day of 40 plus degrees Celsius. Confirm a time with the local farmer to get the grass cut and baled. Mum had left an array of food for me, but naturally, I didn’t want it. Chips were the order of the day. (Fries for my American pals). Cooking it the really old fashioned and unhealthy way, I loaded up the pot with oil and set it to super hot to expedite the process. Some hastily cut spuds, and all I had to do was wait. My tendency to ‘flight of focus’ has always been a thing and I was already bored waiting for the cracking sounds of oil to signal its ‘cookin’ state. Now in my defense, I was engrossed with reading ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’ and Atticus was giving his closing argument. “The defendant is not guilty, but somebody in this courtroom is…” An explosion roared from the kitchen throwing the pot lid almost to my feet as I sat at the dining room table. Immersed in courtroom intrigue, I’d forgotten about my mundane chips.
Well and truly ablaze, I momentarily froze in fright. What do I do, what do I do, what do I do!!!! Even in my alarmed state I did at least walk outside, not run with the pot of flaming dragon breath. I turned it upside down on the front lawn and attempted to smoother it with what was left of the pot. Bits of it jumped about like little frogs, and I quickly learned using my bare feet to kill them was a bad idea. A hasty retreat to the kitchen to fetch a jug of water, but too little too late. On my return, the flames had swept up the front paddock in an ocean of terrifying red and black. I wanted to be sick, the shock of it was beyond anything I had or will likely ever experience again. A frantic call to emergency services made all the more difficult by the fact I was hyperventilating, reassured me a neighbour had already called in the cavalry. Running back to the front porch with my water jug still tightly gripped in my hand, I heard the most joyous sound of the fire brigade. Six in total had arrived to extinguish my act of stupidity. They were fleet of action and quickly brought this potentially catastrophic event under control. A large bear-like man started to approach me, removing his headgear as he drew closer. He was covered in black soot, grime, and sweat. I was shaking, and unable to get any words to exit from my mouth. I wanted to tell him how sorry I was and thank him, but for once in my life I was speechless. I expected him to be angry and to give me a hell of a lecture, that I well and truly deserved. Instead, he glanced at the water jug that I was still clinging to and in his best Crocodile Dundee voice, said, “that’s not a water jug.” He glanced over his shoulder at his splendid firetruck. “That’s a water jug.” I kinda laughed between sobs. He gave me a soft punch to the arm saying, ‘we all do stupid shit, it’s okay.” And that was it. No one rebuked me, lectured, raged or chastised me. I had already grasped the enormity of it all, and there wasn’t a thing anyone could have said that I hadn’t already said to myself. It’s something I have taken with me. Everyone does dumb stuff sometimes, if they know it, just let it go.

I answered the phone to my dad, thinking he’d heard what had happened and was checking in. “Just me, we are on our way back. Did you get the grass seen to?” “Yeah, dad…..I did. ” 🙂

Thanks for listening
Until tomorrow,
Stevie. x