Fires And Wires

My bre'r is passing the graving docks and spots smoke wafting up through the morning air. He sprints down to the pumphouse and catches an elderly gent by surprise. He's crouching in the middle of the hall, bent over a blaze, box of Scottish Bluebell on the floor of broken tiles.
"What you doing?" he demands.
"Aw mate, it's fine. Just burnin aff the plastic tae get the wires oot," he says, holding aloft a melting cable.
Since the undergrowth was cleared from the dock, it's hard to find any cover for traditional riverside activities.

 

Tyred Out

Fires at the Pumphouse on the Graving Docks smoulder on.

A guy with 3 big dugs is seen approaching the broken fencing, then turns aside, then dodges back again and goes through the railings. Ten minutes later there's black smoke billowing from the building, and it stinks. Tyres apparently.

Hot Property

Great to get away on holiday, but it's always nice to return home to Govan, especially when the sun is shining and there's a pleasant heat in the air. Too much heat though down at the graving docks where black smoke was belching through the roof timbers of the derelict pumphouse on Sunday afternoon and again yesterday.

Not too much in there to catch fire though, so the structure stands firm. For the moment.