Country Folk have little regard for the rules and regulations that govern the lives of Townies - and the "no-burning your rubbish in your own back garden" nonsense was blatantly ignored by all in the village; surely we couldn't really be expected to pay the council to come out, their huge silly trucks blocking the narrow lanes for hours, to remove rubbish that would take less than twenty minutes to burn away?
One day as I was walking my dogs through the neighbouring yard I spotted the Rector piling papers into an old oil drum at the bottom of his garden. Now the Rector was really a Townie but he was trying hard to embrace the traditions of the village - he had piled the oil drum high with papers and packaging. As I passed by I stopped to pass the time of day, share a joke. Just as I was moving off a glint caught my eye, a small can of petrol lying on the grass beside the oil drum.
"No!" I screamed to the Rector as I watched him light a match in slow motion and fling it into the oil drum....
"Run!" I shouted to the dogs as the oil drum whooshed into life, throwing the Rector off his feet....
An unholy oath sprang from the Rectors lips as he landed on his bottom, his beard singeing, flames leaping from the oil drum.
"You alright?" I asked - he nodded in embarrassment, he wasn't physically injured, just bruised pride that I had witnessed the scene; knowing that the story would be repeated - with embellishments for dramatic effect, and trying to remember the curse he had uttered, he wondered if he would ever shake off "That bloody Townie" appendage.
I first wrote this story in reply to Magpie Tales prompt - but as it was a true story I thought I could get away with re-posting it here where it really belongs.