That reminds me of our old fire story.

It was our first Christmas eve in our new (very old) house. Our son Christopher had just had his first birthday.

We lived in this little old flat-roofed house build around 1880 in downtown Toronto, at the end of a block right next door to a very large hardware store. By next door I mean about 5 feet away, along one side of our house.

Well, the owners (we believe), decided to torch the store for the insurance. The basement and first floor were loaded with paint and solvents.

The place went up like a torch, a 4- or 5-alarmer, with trucks from all over the city, and a evac bus as well.

They came in and turned off the gas, and then we had to get out. They were on our roof with hoses pointed into the store, and they were watering down our roof to keep the sparks away.

Somehow I got out to a friend's house across the city with the baby (I think David drove me.) He drove back to watch and hope. Our neighbour two doors down kept feeding him shots of grappa until he could hardly stand, let alone drive.

So when he finally felt that the house was safe, and drove out to join us, he was over the line, and got caught in a Christmas eve spot-checks. He explained about the huge fire and the policemen actually drove him to his destination.

We had Christmas morning with presents under the tree from our very kind friend. Our house wasn't damaged except for smoke.