As the Fire Brigade strike enters its second night the media is experiencing its usual feeding frenzy, reporting the shocking news that three people in Britain have died in house fires since the strike first started yesterday evening. Oddly enough, on average, two people die every night due to fires in Britain anyhow. Some nights none will die. Other nights five might die. Three dying, whilst tragic, isn't unusual and doesn't reflect badly on the soldiers having to deal with the fallout. Perhaps more interestingly, one of those who died was actually attended by firemen who broke their picket to help. In the event they couldn't save the woman anyway.
Speaking on behalf of the government however, Jabba-the-Prescott has come out fighting, using the 'disgraceful' statistics as leverage against the fire fighters (sic). (Shades of Maggie bin Thatch's dispute with the miners back in the 80s spring to mind here.) In an aggressive statement to the commons the Deputy Prime Stay-Puffed Marshmallow Man ordered the fire men to 'grow up' and accept the pay increase because 'lives were more important than petty disputes!'
Regardless of the rights and wrongs of the strike, I always start to worry when a big, wobbly bastard the size of Prescott starts to spin so violently because the collateral damage from his whirling tendrils of fat is bound to be great.