Any regular readers of my column may ask: “Lucy, how is it that you stay so positive?” (No one has ever asked this. My column is 80% me complaining). Well, dear reader, my optimism stems almost entirely from a good night’s sleep. I was recently told that I “become a bit unbalanced” when I’m tired. I guess that’s why I make so many bad decisions. Sleep is very important to me, largely because there are five people in my lectures this term, so it has become far more obvious when I yawn every five minutes.

It follows, therefore, that I would find nothing more detestable, nothing more foul, than a rude awakening at 7 A.M. by the fire alarm going off. And yet this is not so. Despite their abrasiveness, I think there is something wonderfully charming about fire alarms.

I’ll set the scene. On Tuesday, I pulled an all-nighter. And I mean an all-nighter. I got half an hour of sleep. All throughout Wednesday, I looked forward to that glorious time when I could finally recover. And yet I was (rudely) kept awake until 2 A.M. by a discussion with a friend which apparently couldn’t wait until morning (the discussion actually couldn’t wait until morning. I’m still annoyed about it though). I collapsed into bed at two in the morning, hoping to get perhaps eight hours of sleep before my tutorial in the morning. Alas. Seven o’clock. The LOUDEST alarm I’ve ever heard. Somehow it is even louder this term than it’s ever been. It did not help that I’d been having a dream about World War Two (as every historian does, I’m sure), and so I awoke under the impression that I was being bombed by the Germans. Finally coming to my senses, I managed to get some shoes on and leave the building. Wearing my ex’s clothes. I foolishly hoped that his building wouldn’t have a drill. No such luck. So, shivering from both cold and lack of sleep, I stood outside wearing my ex’s clothes. In front of my ex. He, of course, looked perfectly put together, even that early in the morning. Truly, a modern tragedy. 

In a desperate bid to avoid eye contact, I focused on literally everyone else. All of these people, most of whom I had only had awkward moments in the kitchen with, standing around shivering in their pajamas. There were many, many dressing gowns. Fluffy slippers. Some… questionable designs. United in sleepiness, we stood in the cold as the alarm blared. The porters stood and watched over us, barely able to keep smug grins from their faces as they revelled in their multiple layers and warm coats. And then we were dismissed back to bed. We shuffled along, desperate to get back into the warmth. My better peers used this as an opportunity to get in an extra hour or two of work. I, on the other hand, went straight to bed. Tired, exhausted, completely starved of sleep, I almost missed my tutorial. 

I’ve been reflecting on previous fire alarms in my life since Thursday morning. Having escaped an actual fire, I do find these endless drills amusing.

I still remember my first fire alarm at college. We’d been told when it would happen, and I didn’t know my new flatmates very well. I made sure I wore my nice pajamas to bed the night before and I’m pretty sure I even put on ‘natural’-looking makeup. I cringe to think about it. The people I lived with would eventually, inevitably, see me at my lowest – exhausted from lack of sleep, throwing up after a bop, crying on the floor of our kitchen –  but at that point, I was so determined to seem cool. I’m sure I impressed no-one, I’m sure everyone was far too tired to notice anyone else. Ah, the life of a fresher. So full of hope. So impressionable. So very silly. 

This slightly cringe moment is nothing compared to my worst fire drill experience (worse than the actual fire? Maybe). I was on summer camp and, having attended a single-sex school, was both terrified of and desperate to impress the boys. I was just stepping into the shower as the fire alarm went off. I just about managed to throw some clothes on – my own clothes this time. The drill ended. Finally, I could shower (shower time was precious on those summer camps). I showered, and, again, was just stepping out of the shower when yet another fire alarm went off. So, in just a towel, with dripping wet hair, I had to stand in a field with a hundred people my age, as I slowly died inside. We later found out that some of the boys had been spraying deodorant directly into the smoke alarms. I still haven’t quite forgiven them.

Fire alarms, those notorious sleep-stealers, are nevertheless entirely whimsical. There is no way to understand someone better than seeing them in a dressing gown and slippers, looking utterly exhausted. It makes us more honest with ourselves. And, whilst they’ve made me miss showers, fire alarms have often stopped me from missing my tutorial. They are utterly silly, but I think that’s sort of wonderful. Sometimes, life is about being stood in a towel in the middle of a field in Wales. And so you make a joke and move on. That’s just the way things go sometimes.