When a fire alarm goes off in a hotel, you go out half asleep and people recognise you from the telly, it ain’t fun. I traipsed outside in my bathrobe only to be greeted by a raft of comments including “saving money on clothes are you now?”
On Sun night, having gone to bed for an early Daybreak start, the hotel fire alarm went off at about 10.50pm.
I grabbed the hotel’s bright white bathrobe, shoved a pair of jeans on, shoes, no socks and headed out.
There I stood with about 30 or so merry people straight from the hotel’s bar, and as they were all fully clothed, I stood out like a throbbing red blistered swollen thumb.
Best of all, it felt like everyone who’d ever watched me on TV was there that night, and understandably all greeted my predicament with general hilarity and more than a few good natured catcalls.
After five minutes feeling like a boy on his first day of school who’d just realised he’d forgotten to put trousers on, thankfully we were allowed back in.