Shaken, not stirred

Until today I hadn't realised that this building (above), is this building (extra 1), with a single contiguous roof (extra 2; courtesy of Google, but personally manipulated).

Had the local fire service not contained the fire before it reached the contiguous roof then it wouldn't have been a blue flashing light to have awoken me on Saturday night, it would have been a raging inferno only feet from my windows. In its current condition, the loft above my flat would have embraced fire as a mother would embrace a long-lost child.

All of the accommodation in that block above the shop frontage shares a single street-level entrance. I do not know if there are other exits. To the best of my understanding all the residential accommodation is divided into tiny housing-association bedsits for those in greatest need of social housing.

Now, in place of blue tape and a squad car, the entrance door is closed and bears a note to the effect that fire and water damage has rendered the block uninhabitable. The housing association has tried to contact all residents but should they arrive home to find this note, their electronic access will be denied and they should contact the housing association urgently.

This evening I bumped into a neighbour from my own block, the father of the younger of our two resident tiny babies. He had missed the excitement of Friday night's door failure and also Saturday night's fire, but he had witnessed occupants of the neighbouring block trudging away carrying bedding. He was moved to witness it. Empathetic.

We talked about our own safety. He's only one floor above ground and little more than half my age. He reckoned that he and his partner were probably fit to jump, but one of them would need to throw the baby down to the first jumper. I suggested they invest in a length of rope long enough to tie around carry-cot handles and lower their baby safely to the street. They hadn't thought of that and he thanked me for the suggestion.