I can't stand up for falling down.....

I can’t stand up for falling down sings Elvis Costello and as friends would testify, never has there been a more apt title to soundtrack my life with.

If there’s something to trip over, slide on or fall into you can bet I’ll be the first one to find it and if Elvis isn’t available to provide the background music, you can be sure that the Benny hill theme tune will be ready to step in.

I’m not one of life’s most graceful women, put most females in high heels and they look poised and elegant, but stick anything higher than a kitten heel on me and I’ll be staggering round like a newborn baby animal.

Walking to meet my other half in our local pub in a pair of amazing red snakeskin wedges one evening, I was doing quite well at staying upright whilst scaling the steep sloping of the pavements in our area until my intense concentration was broken momentarily by someone saying hello to me and down I went like the blocks after one wrong move in a game of Jenga.

So it would be all too easy to say, well Nina you know the solution to your clumsiness problem, stop wearing vertiginous footwear.

However, they aren’t the core problem here.

For while anything over 3 inches will most certainly carry a heightened increase of accident probability, I’m quite capable of being just as likely to take a tumble in flat shoes as well.

For instance a coach trip to London quite a few years back had to be delayed as a nurse friend attended to the two skinned knees I’d managed to obtain after stacking it onto the gravelly pavement in my favourite cowboy boots on our way to the meeting point.

And of course my kids still wet themselves with laughter about the day I dropped them off at their nursery school , advised them as we dashed through the gate “don’t step in the mud, you’ll fall over “ then proceeded to slide down into the squidgy brown mess on my backside, dignity bruised and a large skid mark up the back of my parka.

But the piece de resistance in my freestyle pratfall career can only belong to one particular incident that occurred during my tenure as one half of female dj duo thee trashettes at the manor club one Friday evening.

Playing our favourite tunes whilst partaking in the finest free alcoholic beverages, we prided ourselves on injecting a bit of glamour and fun into our slot in the musical proceedings.

Looking fabulous was our thing and tonight was no different, there I was in my finest vintage dress, a beehive backcombed to within an inch of its life and my favourite pair of knee-high boots.

The trouble with all that d.j privilege booze though was that drinking quite a few of them in quick succession would leave you in dire need of using the loo halfway through a 2 hour set.

So making sure my partner had everything in hand, I excused myself for a moment, opened the door to the booth and prepared to make my way to the ladies.

However in my rush to get down the stairs, I had failed to notice that i had caught the heel of my boot on the edge of the top step resulting in me taking a stunning slow motion nosedive through the air, climaxing with a crash landing in a crumpled heap on the dance floor.

 Embarrassed , legs flailing like an upturned beetle , I did contemplate just staying there on the ground, hoping it would swallow me up and that no-one would’ve noticed but then I got up brushed myself off and carried on my way to the toilets, returning minutes later to finish our d.j set despite the swollen hand from the sprained wrist I’d picked up in the fall.

A true professional to the end.

So Madonna, please take comfort in this story for you’re not alone in the mastering of the fine art of unscheduled stage diving.

GIRL FROM THE NECK DOWN COLUMN - MEDWAY MESSENGER 2/03/15