The fire alarm went off at 4-fucking-50 last night. In the morning. I woke up to the bell ringing downstairs, and of course it took about two seconds until the beep-Beep-BEEP-BEEP started upstairs. First thought: 'You must be fucking kidding.'

But they weren't, so like the responsible fire warden that I am, I get up, grab the torch, put on a dressing gown, and head bleary-eyed out into the corridor to stand on the end of a red phone and listen to it ring for a while. There's a smell of smoke in the corridor. Well, of course there would be; they're hardly going to have a fire drill at this time of night, are they? So we are evacuated, herding various folk in sleepwear, drunken or otherwise, out into the cold, cold snow. (5 points, this is a rare one.) Three people managed to someone sleep through both the annoying beeping, and the whoop-whoop-whoop of the evacuate alarm. Lucky bastards. We still woke 'em up and dragged 'em downstairs, of course.

I was going to get such a good night's sleep last night, but of course it took me ages to get back to sleep after all that lot. I seriously considered not bothering at about 6:30 when I was still awake, but I gave myself another fifteen minutes, and the next thing I know the alarm (my clock alarm, that is) is going off, and it's time to get up. And the horrible plastic smoke from someone over-nuking a cake in the microwave (that's what set off the alarm, the stupid morons) is still lingering in the corridor.

Oh, what a beautiful morning. (No point, too easy.)