ha, ha. So much for coming back to Durham for a good night's sleep. The fire alarms went off at 6.33 a.m. - that's 5.33 by any normal reckoning. Admittedly, my own alarm was set for 6.45, but that's not the point: it was chilly out there on the street. And yes, if one's corridor smells of smoke, one thinks one had better vamoose. Admittedly, again. the smell wasn't bad enough for me to try and bag and pack up an anti-social orange cat, but it did have me scuttering round thinking - what should I flee with? There's a website and book called The Burning House project, which asks you to imagine - if your house were on fire, what would you take with you? I've used it in a writing and photography class; a prompt for thinking about self-portraits without a picture of oneself. So what did I take with me? (I'm not good at choices). Answer - my cell phone, a pair of glasses to read it with, and my shoes (a pair of pants and a shirt were instantly to hand. Admittedly, it's not my own house - few sentimental objects. But no passport, no wallet, no wall art? (I do know everything on my computer is backed up to the cloud, several times over). I felt unimaginative, even as I was padding down the stairwell in my bare feet. And next time? Even more useful and important might have been stopping for a pee before I fled.