Towering Hamletts Inferno

London has been under a fog these past few days. This is worrying because Kevin and I fly to Canada on Monday. Granted, most cancelled flights seem to be within Britain, but I'm still left wondering if on Christmas Day, when Kevin and I arrive at the airline's counter, we'll get a nasty surprise.

In the mornings, the apartment feels cold; there's nothing to see outside but the grey mist that covers the skyline and obscures the whole of the EastEnd. From the kitchen, I can't see Canary Wharf's flashing lights so I'm thankful the usual low-flying small aircrafts have been grounded.

People on the streets and in the tube seem miserable; everyone must be counting down the days until the weekend holiday. As the morning progresses, and the sun shines, the fog lifts and we can see a pale blue sky. My co-workers sing to Take That and do dance routines to "Do They Know It's Christmas Time?" while I'm stuck finishing off my workload. By the time I leave the office, the fog has returned -- thicker than ever, and a perfect companion to the dropping temperature.

I get off at Mile End station and follow the brightest lit roads. All the short-cuts -- those residential streets with spiderly trees and abandomned churches -- seem a tad creepy. There are less people walking around, and I catch a few odd stares from the loners that cross my path. On Roman Road, each pole has a flashing Christmas decoration but, because of the fog, they seem to hang in the air twinkling down at me. I imagine what this part of town must have looked like in Victorian times, so near to where Jack the Ripper's victims were found. Without today's electricity, and with a heavy fog, it must have been terrifying to wander at night. Or perhaps people felt some comfort in disappearing into the fog and being less visible.

***

Kevin, lying on the couch, asks if I smell something burning. There's just a hint of burnt plastic bag. He checks the radiators, then the bedrooms. He cries out that we need to get out of the apartment, that there's smoke in the hallway. I turn off the computer, the stereo and TV, throw on my coat and slip into my shoes. He knocks on the neighbours doors but nobody answers (eventhough we can hear them.) It's as if the fog has come into the building, but it smells of burning. From the emergency staircase I see a firetruck on the street. We rush down the stairs. On the floor beneath us, the smoke is stronger. The staircase is freezing... and silent, apart from us. We get to the reception and Kevin asks what's going on. The night "guard" says someone set fire to the skip outside and the smoke went up the garbage shute. But are you sure, we ask, because the smoke is quite heavy. Yes, he is sure: a firemen is checking all the floors. Just then, the fireman appears and tells us that everything is OK.

a) there was no fire alarm
b) nobody came out despite THE STINK of burning