I was mightily embarrassed last night. Picture the scene: the Retro Bar. Packed. Six of us are hemmed into a tiny corner near the bar. On the floor in our midst is a small bar stool, taking up precious space. I gallantly decide to offer the stool to the people perched on the stage. Holding it aloft above everybody's heads, I carry it through the crowds...

... not realising that the seat is not attached to the rest of the stool.

The seat sliiiiiides off. It ricochets off a girl's head [ooh, sorry] into a bloke's pint glass [so sorry], which explodes in a mighty crash of glass and beer.

Embarrassed? I nearly die. I frantically alternate between apologising, wiping beer off people, and wiping glass off people, all the time stupidly carrying the damned stool, not having the faintest idea what to do with it. I vaguely offer it to the people on the stage. They take one look at this beer-soaked, glass-covered hazard and laugh. I aimlessly transport the stool around a bit more, looking now for somewhere to hide it, to bury the evidence. No-one wants it. I eventually dump it at the feet of the people standing at the central table. I'm sure they don't want it either, but I can't even look at them.

I skulk, shamefaced, back to our group. "I don't believe I've ever seen you embarrassed before," said Ian, snickering, "it's quite fun."