Falling flat on my face

Last night I wore heels for the first time in ten years and I spent some idle moments (of which I normally have none) wondering whether I was going to be able to steer them.

Brilliantly, I managed to fall flat on my face. Not wearing the heels but at 3.30pm on leaving school. I got my completely flat and totally sensible school shoes entangled in the hem of my trousers and fell over. Chin first. The graze on my chin is the only terrestrial thing visible to the scientists on the International Space station currently: it's that large and livid looking. It didn't bode well for heels + booze...

So, the old me would have had a cry and used it as a reason not to got to Year 11 prom. And the old me certainly wouldn't have worn the heels. The new me slathered industrial quantities of Touche Eclat on to my chin and tottered out in my gorgeous heels. At Y11 prom I had a fantastic time watching a load of 15 year olds be magnificent. The girls all looked 25 years old and like the next 63 members of the Sugababes. The boys looked like 12 year old children in tuxes. Bless. The excitement was palpable and they all screeched in such high-pitched voices that only dogs could hear what was being said. At 11pm it was all over and they headed for the afterparties (read snogging in shrubbery at their mates' houses. Or worse). I could have gone home, and the old me would have.

The new me shot home, changed into a little frock and headed for the town. Extremely drunkenly I had an 'unmarriage' ceremony in a bar where the wedding rings came off and went in my bag. Then we headed to a club so I could dance with tall men for the first time in a decade. Predictably, a man did come to dance with me but he was so tiny that he appeared to be a prototype for humanity (ah, this is a scale model of what mankind will look like, the real men will be twice this size).

So, last night I fell flat on my face. But do you know what? These days I'm brilliant at picking myself up.