ALEX SALMOND was pressured to reveal his Plan B for Scotland should a currency union be denied, and came up with three.

I wonder what his Plan B is for himself, should the country vote against independence.

I'm always reading about women who've been successful City lawyers but give up the long hours and luxurious pay packets to set up juice delivery bars or children's Breton top companies. Or hedge fund lawyers who start oak smoking whole pigs and selling them sliced into rustic buns at festivals.

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It occurs to me that I have no Plan B. If it all goes wrong tomorrow, what would I do?

My friend Janet is currently living her Plan B. She gave up her job of eight years, and her flat, and has moved to Spain to nanny children in a five-star luxury resort. There are eight swimming pools and six restaurants but the staff aren't allowed to use them and her new apartment has mice.

She seems pretty happy, though. Mice in luxury sunshine are a little more appealing than mice in Coatbridge.

It's tempting, I have to admit, to pack it all in and move abroad. Leave all your cares behind you. But what if your cares come with you?

One friend moved overseas to try to find love after exhausting the male population of Ireland, so to speak. She's still single but lives next door to an amazing cupcake shop she uses as a comfort blanket each time a date goes belly-up. So to speak. Now she's single and carrying an extra stone.

A university friend moved to Hong Kong for her dream job. It really was her dream job until she was made redundant six months later and had to move in with her auntie.

Still, at least they can say they tried. Life imploded or just didn't go quite as expected and they tried again, but with sunshine. You have to hand it to them, everything is a little nicer with an exotic backdrop and warmth, even redundancy.

My friend Simon would be a subsistence farmer if his 9 til 5 job-in-a-suit went awry. He has an allotment, just to keep his hand in, and I think he secretly hopes for disaster so he can spend more time with his potatoes.

Another of my friends seems to be working her way through a string of Plan As, which would appear to be an excellent way of living life. Nothing is second best, just different.

I suddenly realise why I don't have a Plan B. I don't really have a Plan A. It's time to get plotting.