1 post tagged “helen street”
A lifetime ago I lived in Glasgow, Scotland. A wet grey place most of the time with colour coming from the strangest of places. once I was on a bus travelling home past some highrise flats in Ibrox not unlike the ones featured here. Not exactly like those as the ones in question face the huge Police station at Helen Street where the Police keep suspected high risk criminals in high security prisons that reach deep into the ground.
Anyway, back to the bus. As it ambles along past
Bellahouston Park, I notice one of the windows of the block of flats is
badly smoke damaged and at the same time one of my fellow passengers
mentions this to her travelling companion. Apparently the flat in
question was somewhat of a junkie hangout. One night the inhabitants
decide that after a hard day's smack, nothing would be more relaxing
that some nutritious chips and one of them somehow manages to get from
the floor or the sofa to the kitchen and sets about firing up a chip
pan.
Being junked up and without any real concept of time, they seem to forget that there is a chip pan in the kitchen happily bubbling away full of hot fat. Inevitably this catches fire and starts to burn. Through the foggy haze of heroin, one of them notices something out of the ordinary. Black smoke. Their thoughts turn to how to dispose of a chip pan, not remembering the old public service announcements that informed you that the best way to deal with this would be a wet tea towel or similar placed over the pan to cut off oxygen and starve the fire.
In this drug world the obvious way of disposing of a burning chip pan is to throw it out of the window from the 14th floor onto the motorway below. This stroke of genius may have worked, had it not been for the unsteady hands of one that's been injecting exciting concoctions into their veins. On the way to the window, burning fat was spilled from the pan to the sofa, setting it also alight.
At this point, most folk would likely realise the folly of their actions and escape through the door alerting everyone and anyone. However, our heroes have another Eureka moment.
"And that's why there was a burning sofa sticking out of a 14th floor window in the middle of the night."
Being junked up and without any real concept of time, they seem to forget that there is a chip pan in the kitchen happily bubbling away full of hot fat. Inevitably this catches fire and starts to burn. Through the foggy haze of heroin, one of them notices something out of the ordinary. Black smoke. Their thoughts turn to how to dispose of a chip pan, not remembering the old public service announcements that informed you that the best way to deal with this would be a wet tea towel or similar placed over the pan to cut off oxygen and starve the fire.
In this drug world the obvious way of disposing of a burning chip pan is to throw it out of the window from the 14th floor onto the motorway below. This stroke of genius may have worked, had it not been for the unsteady hands of one that's been injecting exciting concoctions into their veins. On the way to the window, burning fat was spilled from the pan to the sofa, setting it also alight.
At this point, most folk would likely realise the folly of their actions and escape through the door alerting everyone and anyone. However, our heroes have another Eureka moment.
"And that's why there was a burning sofa sticking out of a 14th floor window in the middle of the night."
