I saw a man fall from my neighbour's roof this morning, just 20 feet or so from my back door. Thankfully, I only heard him land with a heavy, wet thud. He was still alive when the ambulance departed.
I only became aware of what was going on once I got back from my morning school run. Apparently he had been on the row of terraces from about 1am. He walked along the whole row of terraces, throwing tiles down at people on the ground and at the firemen trying to rescue him. The neighbour whose roof he fell from is missing several tiles and has a hole in her flat roof from the debris that fell on it. I have broken terracotta shards in my back garden.
At the peak, there were three fire tenders on scene, including a 'snorkle', several police cars and a couple of ambulances.
I'm glad my next door neighbour's young children were blithely unaware of what was going on, much to their parents' relief.
Of course, his falling is not the end of it. The police scene of crime officers have just photographed the damage he caused and the local press have been out interviewing. My house has only just stopped vibrating from the police helicopter.
Perhaps it's the effects of too many years commuting to London for my work in the past, suffering delays from other suicide attempts, perhaps the three attempts made from the office windows at my first job, but I can only feel a little stressed and somewhat annoyed at him. This despite being a long term sufferer of depression myself. It's a sad reflection but an honest one.
