(Title postponed pending establishment of requisite disaster catchphrase)

It’s a very surreal, grim day in Melbourne today.

At last count, 131 people have died in the bush fires.

Business is carrying on as normal in the city, because we are the lucky ones who chose to eschew life in our idyllic little country towns in favour of the concrete jungle. One lady called the radio station from the usual Monday morning peak hour on the Westgate Bridge, saying she was looking around at her fellow commuters to find many in tears. People are donating like buggery - $6.8 million so far.    

Most survivors are describing their shock at speed of the fire, the darkness from the smoke and the incredible noise. I’m not sure what a 60 foot sheet of flame hurtling towards your home at 80km per hour sounds like, but the media are making good use of one survivor’s comparison to jet engines. Stop and picture that for a second.

The footage is heartbreaking. Families have died in their cars trying to escape. Parents have watched their kids being burnt alive. Homes, pets, livestock, wildlife, even entire bloody towns are gone.  

Kinda puts things in perspective.