Years ago I used to drop a large number of empty aerosols on the bonfire every November the 5th, just to add a bit of excitement. It worked well for years and the explosions were tremendous. But eventually the explosions were a disappointment, and it appeared that the plastic valves were melting before the can exploded. A sensible design change.
Yesterday I had a big garden bonfire. I always burn all the contents of the office bin for reasons of confidentiality. I noticed when I tipped the black bag onto the fire that there was a large aerosol of hairspray in there. It was too late to grab it but I wasn't worried. "They don't explode nowadays because the plastic valve melts," I reassured my wife, who was sitting in her scooter watching from a distance. As it happened she went in, and I went to get more rubbish, leaving only Bella the dog sitting near the fire. Bella has a little problem in that she is a reincarnated Second War War soldier and she has severe PTSD. Any slight bang, even a faint one in the distance, and she is terrified. It's because she was on the front line all those years ago, tending to wounded soldiers as shells exploded around her.
As I came out of the workshop, which is fifty yards from the fire, I heard and felt a bang like no bang I've experienced before, followed by a long-drawn-out roar. An object that had a tongue of flame at its rear flew past my ear and smashed into the nearby shed door. It was the aerosol can, which had an intact plastic valve but no bottom.
As the fire died down I set off on the dog walk. Lola was instantly ready as soon as she heard me use the word 'walk' to Hil. But where was Bella? We shouted her again and again. She's a dog that always comes when shouted. Always. But nothing; no Bella. We searched high and low, and became increasingly concerned. I looked in all her known hidey-holes, behind the settees, under the desk, under the work bench behind the boxes of stuff, under the disability ramp amongst the leaves, in the hen house, under the car and van, in the sheds, under the stairs, in the beer cupboard, everywhere. I even went out looking for her up and down the road, despite the fact that our perimeter is totally dog-proof. Finally we gave up. We sat at the kitchen table utterly baffled. I thought she must have had a heart attack and be lain dead in some dark place.
After a few minutes I whispered to Hil, "Look!" There was Bella, in her customary place on the best settee, ostensibly fast asleep but with one wary eye open. Where she'd been hiding and how she managed to get to the settee without us seeing her we'll never know.
We went for the walk and she behaved as if nothing had happened.
Bill