I think I’m jinxed. You may remember that i visited Brighton a few weeks ago on the day that the West Pier collapsed without any knowledge of the incident, and Kirsty and I simply wondering how long that had been like that. Well, to further the illusion of death following in my shadow, last night for the Chinese New Year’s Eve celebrations, Cai Guo-Qiang was commissioned to create a firework spectacular around the Tate Modern and Myloonium Bridge. Hundreds of earnest Londoners eager to see ‘Ye Gong Hao Long’, in light of not having New Years’ fireworks for the past few years, edged along the bridges and banksides to watch the 1 minute ‘explosion’. “ooooooh! oh. that it?” we cried, in such as way that we weren’t really sure as to whether it had failed miserably, or we’re just too demanding as citizens of the capital. Anyway, we left and crossed the bridge back to the south side of the river, and whilst walking infront of the Tate Modern building, and upon looking up towards the main tower at the front, we noticed flames hanging from the roof. Hmm. I wonder if that’s still meant to be burning. Soon enough a crowd had gathered around watching these flames, and then gasped as the flames dropped to one of the balconies. Perhaps they went out when they landed. Perhaps not, as the window frame caught alight.
You’ll be thankful to know that some cheery soul came out with a fire extinguisher and put the blaze out before the country’s largest collection of modern art was destroyed by the dragon which had failed to impress just minutes earlier, to the ripple of applause from the audience below. We decided to move on, and perhaps enjoy some Jasmine Tea and a fortune cookie in the Tate Cafe, but upon arrival, the fire alarms sounded (some 10 minutes too late) and everyone was evacuated. We decided it was best to leave before anything else caught on fire.
And if that was not enough, today, during a partners meeting at work, halfway through the scheduled proceedings, a fire alarm on the 3rd floor of our builing went off. As ‘not very healthy or safely’ officer, i jumped to my feet and wandered upstairs to battle the blaze, but could see no signs of the dragon which I presumed was seeking revenge for the previous nights failure in catching prey. No flames to speak off, but none the less, upon resetting the alarm, it sounded again, and we thought it best for all parties to call out the fire brigade. Of course, anyone who is in london this weekend will know that there is another fire union strike, meaning that it was time for the police, army and navy to turn up, green goddesses and all, and wander into the building with axes to try and break down the door. We’d long since evac’d the computers from the building and buggered off to the pub. It turns out there was no fire, probably just mischevious elves playing with matches. I’m waiting for the third fire to happen to make the old adage that bad things come in threes. Cigarette anyone?
