Falling Down

Last week's impulse to run back to the staff stairs in Mojo's and hide from the world turned out to be misguided, foolish and potentially perilous. I will not, under any circumstances risk life and limb by going up to the staff staircase ever again. Not even for the Mary Poppins-esque view of Manchester rooftops that impressed me so much the first time.

I blame the entire episode on Rough Stuff. He texted me on Saturday evening to tell me he was in a beer garden in Salford with the lads. Would I like to meet his social family, he asked quite casually, with no apparent notion of the turmoil he was inflicting upon me. What should I wear? What if they didn't like me? Does this mean he's serious about me? How serious is serious? Should I be concerned that he may be getting a bit too heavy? But hang on. Weren't we supposed to be going to the cinema? Does the idea of spending an evening alone with me repel him already? Oh God, he's gone off me and he's using his friends as a shield to resist my advances?

So of course I went along. I needn't have worried - Rough Stuff's friends are almost as genial and as engaging as he is, and they made me feel as though I had known them for much longer than a couple of hours. The evening was going well so we decided to move on to Mojo's, at which point I realised it was exactly one month since the first night Rough Stuff and I had got together. There was nothing else for it - as soon as we arrived we raced upstairs, tried the door... perfect! It was the first opportunity I had had all evening to be alone with him, so I wasn't going to waste any time in not kissing him.

Unfortunately it didn't take long for a member of staff to disturb us. She was less than impressed, so we mumbled an apology and headed for the door. Never one to let the opportunity of turning an embarrassing situation into a complete state of mortification and humiliation, I turned back to let her know that it was our one month anniversary and the staff stairs were of utmost importance in the blossoming of our relationship. However by this point in the evening I was on the slippery slope otherwise known as JD and coke, and multi-tasking was becoming more arduous. Forgetting that I was wearing flat shoes (they will be the death of me) I misjudged the step.

Proceedings become somewhat sketchy at this point. I can remember plummeting through the air with my head directly in line with the cigarette machine. I can just about recall having a premonition of how embarrassed I was about to become when I hit the floor. And then nothing. The next thing I remember is lying on my back with Rough Stuff holding my head and two members of staff hovering over me calculating how this was going to hold up in court.

Fortunately I walked away from the incident with little more than a bruised arse and a squiffy air of concussion. Feeling a little shaky, we went outside for some fresh air (i.e lots of fags - after hitting my head so hard on the fag machine that I momentarily passed out, I was insulted to have to pay £5.8o for 16 cigarettes from the sturdy little bastard). With a face brimming with care and concern, Rough Stuff took my hand in his and without the slightest trace of irony whispered:

"I'm finding it difficult to stop myself from falling for you."

With Mojo's staff stairs firmly blacklisted, I'm running out of places to hide.