New Year's resolution number one: don't go clubbing with Mr Wrong

Monday morning life
Thank God for the first Monday morning in January. After all that's when New Year's Resolutions start, really. These last five days surely haven't counted? Please ...

There's something blissful about slinking into the office after an ill-judged two weeks off. At least in work, everyone knows you as Ms X, the mild-mannered janitor figure and not as Ms X the complete loon.

Girls, after the horrors of this weekend, the first rule of 1998 is never go clubbing with someone you're trying to get over. Sweating on a dance floor gyrating wildly was never going to attract him. And the queue to get in was crushing. I hate crowds. "Done anything interesting?" I asked.

Ten minutes later he was still: "Smirk smirk ... blah blah ... payrise ... beautiful women ... ideal life ... And how about you?"

Mind went completely blank. "Oh, er, you know ... Fancy a fag?"

Long pause.

The queue was getting more and more packed. Didn't feel too well - too hot - but only five people in front now. Only three. Only ...

OK so I a) fainted outside the club; b) got whisked away to casualty by burly security guard; c) was accompanied by sulky ex who now has had everything he thought about me confirmed.

The nurse was unsympathetic: "You fainted? Well it's not life-threatening so you'll have to wait your turn. Will the person who's smoking please STOP. This is a hospital."

A girl with ripped tights is brought in crying hysterically. "I've got cancer haven't I? You're too scared to tell me. You've brought me to the Marsden? I'm here cos I've got cancer. Boohooooohooooo."

"You're in St Thomas's. On your hen night. You got drunk, fell over and gashed your leg," said her mate icily.

"Boohoohooo."

"I've lost me mate Jez. He's the only one who knows me parents' number. I need to find Jez," wailed another bloke with a bandage round his head. The nurse took one look at both. "Will whoever's smoking go out NOW."

Mr Wrong put a solicitious arm round me. The male protective instinct to the fore, I thought. Now he knows how much I mean to him. Hurrah.

"How are you?" he asked.

"Much better," I said smiling bravely.

"Good. I think I'll go back to the club then."

Resolution for 5 January 1998: I am going out to buy a wax figure and some large pins. And some emergency smelling salts.

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