It’s been a hectic week. Old age has set in and Sunday night I was ‘enjoying’ Sunday dinner (a sarnie) at Euston station en route to Milton Keynes. Happily, this was because I was on the way to the second part of the course I started a few weeks back. ‘Happily’ because the course was great, the people were all lovely and the food there is amazing. Also, I stay away from home infrequently enough to get a little kick out of the free shampoo and shower gel (I know. I’m sad. You don’t need to say it.)

All was going well. This time I didn’t suggest any Irish people were from Argentina and no Brummies were unintentionally relocated to Australia. No, this time was worse.

We finished the first day, had a three course meal together and, realising I may have over indulged a little on the Sauvingnon Blanc, I went to my room at a very reasonable time. Just as I climbed into bed, the fire alarm went off. I did that weird thing that fire alarms make you do – standing still with your head on one side waiting for it to stop. It didn’t. I pulled my jeans and a jumper over my nightie and left my room. Then I went back for the Blackberry of Evil (I really can’t manage without it now) then I left.

As I stood outside with a few hundred other people (who all seemed to be fully dressed and made up) I felt a bit daft with no make up, scary hair and my nightie escaping from my jumper. At least we were in the dark though. But no, that would have been too easy.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, the fire service have cleared the bar area so please wait in there until the rest of the centre has been checked’.

Lovely bright lights highlighted my terrible bedtime look…so much for appearing professional!

Still, it could have been worse – one lady appeared in her nightie and coat….carrying a jug of milk. As you do. Hooray that it wasn’t me! :o)