London's burning: a London fire engine. Photo: Getty
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Suzanne Moore: The fish fingers were in flames – then the fire became uncontrollable

Suzanne Moore’s weekly column, Telling Tales. 

There is no smoke without fire. And there is always more smoke than fire. I know that now, having burned down most of my flat.

It was long ago but I lived then very much as I do now: talking on the phone, washing my hair, writing an article about whether feminists should shave or some such, cooking fish fingers under the grill. The modern word for this is “multitasking” and there are less polite words, I am sure.

My children were at school. My friend on the phone was talking, of all things, about the stupid fire drills she was having to do at work, when I smelled something. The fish fingers were on fire. Then the whole grill was on fire. I tried to smother it. I knew not to put water on fat. Flames were leaping up; then, in a millisecond, that thing happened. Fire goes from being something you think you can control to something you know you can’t. The smoke becomes almost solid.

Still in a dressing gown, with a towel on my head, I started choking but rushed out and banged on Ray’s door. Ray was the caretaker who lived next door, who was undisturbed by the explosions I could now hear.

“Get the fire extinguishers,” I screamed. We did.

It was a council flat. The extinguishers were all empty.

“Don’t worry,” said Ray, rushing into my bedroom and picking  up my duvet. He then manfully ran into the heat and threw it in, making a bad situation worse.

By now, a crowd had gathered outside. “Well, that one’s gone, hasn’t it?” said an old lady gleefully.

“Who lived there?” asked a bystander.

“Me,” I said sobbing.

I was thinking, for some reason, about the hand-painted duvet cover my friend had made.

When the firemen came, they crawled in under the smoke to smash out any windows that hadn’t blown.

“Have you got any vodka, love?” said one of them. “Go have one.”

Ray gave me a drink. The smoke was in my hair. “No one is hurt,” he kept saying.

Everything was black. Everything was gone. The fridge and washing machine  had melted into shapes from a Dalí painting.

“Was it my fault?” I kept asking.

“Second-hand cooker, Miss?”

Well, of course it was. Everything I owned was.

“Electrics.”

Did he say that to me to make me feel better?

All I took was some lipstick to put on my face, which was now a smear of ash and tears.

My children and I were now homeless. I was given a leaflet  about fire risks in the home.

Even now in restaurants when candles are too close, I feel the dread and move them away. Waiters ask, “Is everything all right?”

Once you know about fire, it never is. 

Suzanne Moore is a writer for the Guardian and the New Statesman. She writes the weekly “Telling Tales” column in the NS.

This article first appeared in the 06 November 2014 issue of the New Statesman, Running out of Time

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Piers Morgan struggles with the idea that anyone might ever refuse an opportunity to go on television

The Good Morning Britain host has contradictory beef with Ewan McGregor.

Has it been a while since you heard what Piers Morgan thinks? Are you shaking from withdrawal, refreshing your Twitter feed, unsure whether Kanye is or isn’t a narcissist? Well, fear not, the Mole has a fresh fix for you. After Ewan McGregor dropped out of appearing on Good Morning Britain today, a new take was born. Actors’ opinions are stupid, but also, actors should come on Piers Morgan's show and talk about their not-important views.

McGregor, who was meant to be promoting Trainspotting T2 on the show, tweeted this morning he had cancelled because of Piers’ (obviously half-baked) opinions on the Women’s March. “Was going on Good Morning Britain, didn't realise @piersmorgan was host,” McGregor wrote. “Won't go on with him after his comments about #WomensMarch.”

What truthbomb had Piers dropped to provoke this? That it was unfair women were protesting and where was the MEN'S march. A march for men! As if running our parliament, corporate system, legal industry and creative sector isn’t enough! They should probably all do a walk too! Poor men. No wonder the patriarchy is on its last legs. They must be so weary.

Still, hats off to Piers Morgan. It takes a real personal flexibility to maintain the title of Contrarian Extraordinaire of the Our Glorious Nation. By which we mean that Piers Morgan will think literally anything, if the money is right. Whether it’s writing that Kim Kardashian is so awful she caused someone to have a stroke, or that he loves her for being herself, the man is so darn unpredictable. 

Morgan accused McGregor of being "just an actor", and that he should be “big enough to allow people different political opinions”. Once again, he asked the age-old question: are you an enemy of free speech if you won't go on someone’s early morning television show? This might be alien to Piers, but people don't have to go on television if they don't want to. 

And what if Ewan had appeared on the show chatting about his film? “Happy to appear on my show for your film, but not happy with my opinions? Classic money-driven actor,” the inevitable Morgan tweet would have read. It's quite easy, this Piers Morgan lark. No, it isn't. Yes it is. Cheque please! 

I'm a mole, innit.