Oh the shame Picture this, if you will, sunny Sunday afternoon, just the right sort of day for a bit of topiary. So out with the power hedge trimmer and off I jolly well go. Strim, strim, strim - making lovely straight lines with nice curvy bits where required. Tum-ti-tum, twiddle-di-dee, everything going well. Twenty minutes I turn around to see smoke billowing (and I mean billowing not a wispy trail) out of the garage! I fling down the hedge trimmer, screaming like a banshee for Gaz to get of the sofa to rescue stuff from the garage or at the very least locate the source of the fire. I always thought I'd be good in a crisis and I am when it's someone else's crisis but today I was a tad headless chicken-like. I mean, the garage is full of things, stuff, memories, oh and Gaz's drum kits, lighting equipment, amps etc, which, to be honest, I show scant regard for.
Gaz leaps forth from the front door - my hero - (note to self make the lad a cup of milky coffee after he rescues the situation) with no thought to his own safety, fights his way into smoke-filled garage (I may have whimpered a bit at this point and quickly wondered where the life insurance policy was)
AND TURNS OFF THE FECKING SMOKE MACHINE THAT WAS PLUGGED INTO THE SAME SOCKET AS THE HEDGE TRIMMERS
decides to tour 
)
