This is a copy of my weekly blog which I write for work and is published on the council's intranet.  The views I express in this log are my own, professional, views as the Head of Communications but do not necessarily reflect those of the authority itself.

I was at a meeting in Merrion House (one of the council's buildings in Leeds) last week when proceedings were interrupted by the fire alarm.
 
It was interesting to observe how people in the room reacted to it.
 
The first question was ‘is this for real’?  Well, the alarm is sounding, so surely it would be safe to assume that there is a need to evacuate the building?

Then someone looked out of the window and noticed the weather was awful, which resulted in a collective groan about having to stand outside in November.

Finally, there was a last minute scrabble to collect hats, scarves and gloves (from the room we were in) before we headed for the door.
 
As per usual it turned out to be a false alarm and no doubt some burnt toast was the blame [I’m guessing that, but based on my 16 years of being a broadcast journalist, most of the occasions when I reported on large buildings (hospitals mainly) being evacuated because of a fire alert, burnt toast turned out to be the root cause of the problem 95% of the time].
It made me think about how we behave when the fire alarm goes off.
 
The likelihood is that most times it will either be a false alarm or a practice; but clearly the only solution is to get the building clear of people as soon as possible until someone can offer an absolute reassurance that it’s safe to go back in.
 
I find it interesting that some of us are prepared to stay where they are until it is somehow confirmed that there really is a fire.  At what point exactly would they decide to leave?  When there are flames licking at their feet?  Perhaps once the heat has got unbearable or part of the ceiling has collapsed?

Alarms are there for a reason and they are designed to give us early warning about a problem and so we should act on them as soon as they go off.
 
My sister-in-law Ruth should know.  The red warning light on the dashboard of her clapped out old Citroen came on recently to tell her the oil was below the minimum level and needed to be topped up.  By her own admission she’s a bit clueless about cars, so she didn’t take any notice but wondered why a week or two later the car grinds to a halt and conks out.
 
‘Didn’t you realise that meant it needed more oil?’ I enquired.

‘Nope’.
 
‘But weren’t you concerned that a red warning light had come on?’
 
‘I noticed it, but didn’t know what to do …’ she said.
 
Oh dear.
 
She won’t forget next time.  Not after the bill from the mechanic to fix the damage caused by a lack of oil in the engine.
 
But she could now accuse me of being a hypocrite.
 
Six weeks ago I was at home doing nothing more strenuous than watching TV when I was rooted to my chair by the worst chest pains I have ever experienced.  Then there were the tingling sensations in my arms and the struggle to breathe.

It was so bad, that I nearly dialled 999.  Instead, I called my sister in Hampshire.  She’s a matron and was concerned about my symptoms.  She wanted me to go to A and E.
 
I was reluctant.  Anyway, within 90 minutes, the pain had gone, my heart was still ticking and all seemed to be well with the world.
 
I thought no more of it.
 
But then it happened again.  Last Thursday.  I had been to a memorial service for someone killed in a car accident and on the way home the pain returned.  Not so bad this time, but still there.  By the time I arrived, it had gone.
 
Then on Friday the pain was back.  As I walked to Civic between meetings I thought I was going to keel over.  But this time, I couldn’t ignore things.  After a while sat on the floor of the office, my team’s first aider insisted I seek medical attention and he came with me to find it.

The result is that I’ve now got to have some tests to see what the problem is.
 
Anyway, dear reader – in true ‘Lassie’ style there is a moral to this story and I refer you to my earlier comments – ‘alarms are there for a reason …’.
 
Please assure me that you won’t ‘do a Ruth or an Andy’ and ignore a ‘red light’ of any description and for goodness sake get out of the building as soon as you can when the fire bell next sounds.
 
You have been warned.