Nice trip?

I attempted to run for a train this morning. There are many reasons why I should never be allowed to run anywhere, including 'Because I run with the grace of a lolloping, obese giraffe' and 'Because I risk giving myself two black eyes with my flailing bosoms'. The most crucial of reasons, though, is 'Because I am stunningly clumsy and will almost certainly fall over'. You can tell where this is going, can't you? I landed flat on my back on the concrete stairs with my decorative but surprisingly sharp hair bow driven into the back of my skull, the zip of my dress biting into my spine and one lonely shoe tumbling down to the platform. My fellow commuters stopped and stared concernedly at me for a moment, before I loudly declared "Well that was rather inevitable, wasn't it!", at which point they all started laughing. I choose to believe that this is because, even lying prone on a staircase, I am still quite extraordinarily witty, rather than because of my uncanny resemblance to a horizontal version of the afore-mentioned obese giraffe. A motherly-looking woman returned my shoe to me and gave me a little hug as she picked me up. I strongly suspected her of being either a nurse or a primary school teacher, and was momentarily tempted to bury my head in her shoulder and have a little cry. I managed to restrain myself from this regression however, and sheepishly slunk off down the platform to lick my wounds. Metaphorically speaking of course. If I were literally capable of licking my back, elbow or the rear of my own head, the necessity of commuting to work would be removed by my incarceration in a freak show.