Yesterday we had a little adventure at the new flat. I should mention that the new flat, by any stretch of the imagination, is a dump. We thought it would be sort of adorable to live in a dump for a while. Turns out, not so much.
The adventure in question began at about 6:45am. The flat has a bunch of electric wall heaters, which you can turn on using a switch. About 3 of the 6 total heaters in the flat actually work. I thought the one in the bathroom didn't work at all, but Dan managed to turn it on yesterday morning, and so our adventure begins. Dan got in the shower, and then he noticed some smoke. He peeked out to find the heater had lit a roaring, crackling fire to keep him warm. What a lovely surprise!
My first inclination that we were embarking on an adventure was waking up to a funny burning smell. Seconds later, Dan came into the bedroom and told me something was on fire. In my sleepiness, I thought he meant the water heater. Not that the source mattered much at the time. Smoke was pouring out of the bathroom, and we both got dressed and opened some windows. We called 999, a little nervous, because of the training we both had as kids that 911 (the equivalent number in the USA) is FOR EMERGENCIES ONLY!!!
But our bathroom was on fire! So we called, grabbed our laptops, taking occasional breaks to breathe near an open window, and bundled up to wait outside for the Avon Fire Brigade to arrive. About 10 firefighters and two fire trucks arrived to solve the problem, and I kept thinking there was no possible way they'd all fit into our tiny little apartment.
In the end, we received two complimentary smoke detectors, and little damage was done. If our landlord could show a bit of concern and offer to have the other electric heaters checked, life wouldn't be bad at all. I know the smell of burned plastic will fade over time...
