Hurricane Dean is coming, but there's no place in the evacuation strategy for Kevin Fong. Time to stockpile emergency waffles?

I am in my cubicle tapping merrily away while a hive of activity carries on around me: Houston is preparing for Hurricane Dean.

Elisa the laboratory manager is moving through the building so fast she is but a blur.

She stops to ask me if I have my hurricane kit.

I shake my head and smile and carry on typing.

Behind me my colleagues are rushing around like obedient worker bees unplugging stuff and covering everything in plastic bags.

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Elisa returns and chucks me my Nasa hurricane kit.

I am expecting signalling beacons, a survival suit, possibly a pair of rocket shoes.

In fact, it is a plastic envelope with a bin liner and a single yellow sheet instructing you to make sure your computer is backed up, wrapped in the enclosed bag and off the ground.

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Elisa looks at me sitting at my terminal happily going about my business.

"Kevin, I just don't think you're spun-up enough about this here hurricane."

But before I can reply she has disappeared again.

I'm sure they are overreacting, and I'm determined to bring a sense of British calm to this crisis.

The build-up to the hurricane has been going on for days. The weather forecast is predicting that it will grow to a Category 5, with winds of over 150mph.

The satellite picture suggests it might hit us.

But I remain calm, taking my cue from flatmate Steve who is pretty level headed and seems to be deeply unimpressed by the threat.

I haven't seen him do any panic-buying, stockpiling cans of petrol or listening obsessively to the weather reports.

All the same, now that his colleagues at the space centre are getting "spun up", I feel maybe I should get an idea of what we're going to do should the worst actually happen.

"Steve, mate, what is our evacuation plan?" I say casually over a beer that night, still not wanting to blow my Britannic cool.

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"Dude," he replies, "if that happens I'll get flown to Cape Canaveral. I'll be on Cocoa Beach sipping cocktails. Why, what's your plan?"

There is silence, though I hear the roaring of realisation in my head.

It turns out that if you are important to mission operations - if you are responsible, say, for keeping the space shuttle flying or something - then Nasa moves you out of harm's way to make sure the show can go on.

This explains Steve's state of calm: he is one of those people. I, on the other hand, am not.

Half an hour later we are in the local supermarket going hurricane-shopping.

Packet noodles, tins of tuna, canned vegetables, a box of muesli bars and pasta.

Actually, apart from the 14 gallons of water, it feels uncomfortably like an ordinary visit to the shops for me.

I buy some batteries and a torch; Elisa, I think, would be proud to see me finally getting with the programme, taking things seriously and behaving like a true Texan.

I think about this for a moment and buy some Rocky Road ice cream and Belgian waffles.

Kevin Fong is a physiology lecturer at University College London, a junior doctor and co-director of the Centre for Aviation, Space and Extreme Environment Medicine. He is a fellow of the National Endowment for Science, Technology and the Arts.

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