There was a fire in the Sainsbury’s carpark this afternoon. Just as I was exiting the starbucks with my Eggnog Latte and a bag of shopping a Green Godess with associated police acompaniment cam screaming round the corner and very nearly clipped a nice blue Vauxhall Vectra.

A car was on fire but when they tried to put it out they found that there wasn’t any water, so they have to sort out a chain of pipes to the nearest outlet 200 yards away. Much amusement to all as a squaddie failed to throw a hose over a set of railings twice. By this time there was a fair crowd of shoppers all avidly discussing, in particular there was one middle aged lady standing next to me who seemed to be watching with unusal concentration.

Eventually they sorted out the water problems and there’s one soldier standing with the big hose. Sadly he didn’t exactly expect water to come out of it and the force of the pressure knocks him clean off his feet, the hose flys off and water is sprayed abolutely eveywhere. More general amusement amongst spectators as hapless soldier is slapped over the holmet by his sergent. This time they get three guys holding the hose and it works a bit better, sadly the car is also a mere shell having been burning merrily for a good while.

When it was almost finished the lady next to me asked a favour, ‘could you look at the car next to the burning one and tell me the numberplate’. This car had been in the wars a bit, the paint on the exposed side had buddled and it generally looked the worse for wear. Unsurprisng given that there was a petrol fire next door. I told her the numberplate. Her response in marvelously Alan Bennetish understated yet full of feeling tones. ‘Oh Dear.’