Kaboom!

Reason number 497 not to live in a van down by the river:

Anyway, I woke up on Monday to a loud bang, followed by another loud bang, and then sirens. This being Bermondsey, I rolled over and went back to bed. Had I gotten out of bed and gone to the front window -- like my new flatmate Steph did, apparently she's less accustomed to the sounds of our neighbourhood -- I would have seen a van on fire and indeed, exploding.

It doesn't really look exploded in this pictures, but the inside is all burnt out, and I think the engine exploded the hood up like that. Basically, gas -- or petrol, as the locals would call it -- doesn't really explode so much as burn nicely, as one learns when camping...

The police came around -- much quicker than last time they were called out -- and told Steph and other flatmate Hannah that the burned catering van was indeed stolen. Suspicion then seemed to float over in our neighbours' direction, as it sure as hell wasn't us that stole it, and it didn't park itself (or blow itself up).

We have theories -- none of which I'll elucidate on here, for fear of insulting anyone by suggesting they may be drug dealers or car thieves or in slightly lame rival gangs. Who knows, maybe they just always wanted to be caterers?