How it started
A simple desire
The £10,000 Gas Fire: A Heartwarming Tale of Cold Air and Crushed Dreams
In 2021, our esteemed MD, Mark Temple, embarked on a noble quest. Inspired by the sleek interiors of Suits (because nothing says “life goals” like a fictional lawyer’s living room), Mark decided he needed a ribbon-effect gas fire. Not for heat, of course—heaven forbid—but for the aesthetic. The dream? Flames that danced gracefully in the background while sipping whisky in a three-piece suit. The reality? Less Harvey Specter, more DIY SOS.
Six months later, after enough research to qualify as a part-time arsonist, he found it: The One. A £4,000 beauty, shipped on a crate like it was the Ark of the Covenant. And so began what can only be described as a money-burning pilgrimage.
First, a Corgi Registered Gas Engineer. These mythical beings are rarer than unicorns with work boots. It would’ve been easier to win the Postcode Lottery while being struck by lightning. Then came the builder, the flue guy, the plasterer, the pipe whisperer. Creating the false chimney was less “home improvement” and more “small-scale civil engineering project.” After £10,000 and enough contractor tea to fill the Thames, the fire was finally installed.
It was stunning. Elegant. Sophisticated.
And utterly useless.
The legally-required air vent turned the lounge into a wind tunnel. The flue? It brought in more cold air than the gas fire could expel, rendering it the world’s most expensive decorative breeze enhancer. Even better, strong gusts would blow the flames out. Yes—it was so cold and draughty that the fire refused to exist.
But wait, there’s more! The flue—at a majestic six metres high—was structurally similar to a small oil refinery. When the wind picked up, it rattled like an angry ghost and threatened to launch itself into orbit. Rainwater casually strolled down it, because apparently the fire wanted to be a water feature, too.
After a glorious 12-month run of “ambient flames with added windchill,” things got even better. In winter 2023, the fire spectacularly gave up on life. Despite new batteries, a new valve (a snip at £380 + fitting), and several sacrificial offerings to the Gas Fire Gods, it was officially kaput.
Spirit Fires—the makers of this sleek money pit—had conveniently gone bust. And frankly, no one was surprised.
So where does that leave us? £10,000+ lighter, marginally colder, and significantly wiser. The gas fire dream had died (for now), but it lives on in legend—and on our balance sheet.
If you’re considering installing one of these modern marvels of inefficiency, you actually have the gas supply within 2 inches of the desired location and the stamina you will definitely require, go knock yourself out. It maybe better to just light a candle and hold your wallet instead.
Return of the Ribbon: The Gasless Sequel No One Saw Coming
Leap forward two years. It's Christmas 2024. The turkey was dry, the in-laws were overbearing, but then—like a festive epiphany wrapped in wrapping paper—Mark saw it. A fire. Not just any fire, but a glorious coal fire on TV. It crackled, it glowed, it radiated warmth (visually at least). And in that moment, our MD awoke. Spiritually. Emotionally. Thermally.
The effect? Mesmerising. This was no longer about heat—this was about vibe. A vibe with orange hues and flickering shadows that whispered, you could be cozy too… if only.
There was, however, one small catch: it was a coal fire on TV, and Mark wasn’t in the business of choosing between watching fire and watching, say, firefighters. A TV underneath a TV? Come on. What is this, a Dixons showroom in 1998? Besides, TVs are wide and short. Fires are short and wide. It’s like trying to stack lasagna on a wine glass.
Unbelievably though, the illusion of heat was so convincing that all three of Mark’s dogs—reasonable creatures, one would think—jostled for front-row seats in front of the fake fireplace. Each one battling for prime territory as if central heating had just been outlawed.
And so, re-energised by faux-flickers and canine confusion, Mark reignited (pun very much intended) his obsession with the elusive ribbon-effect fire. The look was non-negotiable. He had tasted greatness before. Briefly. Too briefly. But now, he would have it without the chaos, the Corgi-fitter lottery, or needing structural steel support for a flue that doubled as a wind chime.
Naturally, as one does when one has exhausted all domestic fire-related options, Mark went to the Far East.
And lo, after some design wizardry, a touch of East-meets-West engineering, and probably a few noodle-based brainstorming sessions, it happened. The Gasless Ribbon Fire was born.
Yes. Gasless. Not a whiff.
No flue. Not a drop
No builders. Not a tea!
No one asking for £2,000 to knock a hole in your lounge.
No registered fitters showing up three weeks late and telling you they “don’t touch Spirit Fires anymore.”
Just the stunning effect. And all the glory.
Weeks after installation, word spread like wildfire (of course). Friends. Neighbours. Tradesmen. They came, they saw, they stared blankly into the mesmerising dance of the ribbon flame. Some asked questions. Others didn’t—they just stood there, hypnotised, holding their tea.
Was it warm? Emotionally, yes.
Was it real? Define "real."
Was it finally the end of the Gas Fire Odyssey? Probably. Hopefully. Please, God.