A man from the US Homeland Security Department told me that there are five basics for surviving any disaster: food, water, shelter, fire and security. Though it was one of the more unusual pick up lines I’ve been confronted with at that particular dancehall, this man clearly knows “what’s what.” During the most recent disaster I’ve personally survived (the last minute cancellation of a romantic engagement due to “work commitments”), these five things served me well. Christopher cooked me a delectable dinner in my own fabulous kitchen, accompanied by a tall glass of water topped up with whiskey. I then warmed myself in front of the fire I had started with the thoughtless Lothario’s letters and felt secure with the fact that, despite this man’s supposed dedication to his job, he will never have as healthy a bank balance as I do. Homeland Security really knows what it’s talking about.
However, there are a few finer points on disaster survival that I feel are worth mentioning. These again apply to all disasters, natural or otherwise (and by otherwise, I mean man-made and by man-made, I mean made by men). So I suppose really these survival tips are geared more towards the ladies, the truly innocent victims of man’s inhumanity. They were taught to me by one Daphne d’Ebriété, my first real mentor. A more refined example of a refined woman, you could not ask for. Miss d’Ebriété was in the habit of describing her retiring to her chamber each night as “taking to her death bed.” Although this sounds rather ghoulish, it helped her see that each day could be her last and therefore she lived it to the fullest (which may explain her surprising number of arrests for public indecency). I can recall the final lesson she passed on to me. She said quite simply, “Agatha, dying can be a real pisser. But if you’re prepared, you can help it be that little bit less shit.”
Therefore I shall pass on Daphne’s advice to you now, in hopes that you will use it wisely during the dangerous times in which we are currently living in.
Firstly, a sophisticated woman should never be without a pack of Turkish perfumed cigarettes. Even though smoking regrettably continues to fall out of favour with each new generation, having access to some lovely smelling foreign fags is vital to a girl’s survival. Lighting up one of those babies (don’t inhale if you insist on being such a pussy about it) and fondling it in your delicate fingers will be beneficial in any disaster: the nicotine and injurious toxins that make it smell so pretty are bound to have some kind of positive effect on your nervous system plus its essential sexiness means you will easily be able to seduce your way to the front of the gas mask queue.
Additionally, a woman should know how to set her own hair. Although it is obviously much more enjoyable to have one’s do done by someone else (ideally a young man with nicely trimmed fingernails), it’s important to be capable of setting it oneself in a pinch. There are two reasons for this. After the apocalypse, we have no idea how difficult it might be to book a salon appointment; global catastrophe is no excuse to look bedraggled. More importantly, though, the tools of the hairstyling trade may be helpful post-Armageddon: a hot iron will help with making cheese toasties, a barrette can keep your dress from exposing too much thigh and a hair pin could be useful in picking out those pesky chards of glass embedded in your tender flesh.
Finally, it’s wise to always pack a piece.
Following Daphne’s advice has kept me alive and kicking for these many years, and I encourage you to take her words to heart. Tomorrow, we may face a disaster of epic proportions and if you don’t take heed and you end up dead, well, just don’t come crying to me about it.
Sleep tight, dear ones!
Everyone Needs an Algonquin 
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