Seán Moncrieff: There’s nothing more mortifying than tripping in public

You’re walking down the street. You may be hurrying, weaving around the others on the pavement. Or you may be strolling: it’s sunny and you’re wearing your favourite shoes and it may be one of those all-too-rare times when you think all is well in the world.

And then you trip.

Your arms and legs flail out, like your rubbery things. Every nerve in your body jangles as you stagger to a halt. If there’s somebody with you, they might helpfully suggest that you look where you’re going, which might annoy you. If you’re by yourself you’re annoyed anyway. And embarrassed.

Indignant about this indignity. So you do what people always do in this situation: you turn around and glare at the pavement.

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But you’re not doing it because you think the pavement is going to apologise or say: I thought you were a six-year-old. My bad! You’re doing it to signal to the people around that you don’t normally act this way. You’re an adult. It was the pavement that did this. The people, slightly embarrassed on your behalf, keep moving.

You'd like to think that childhood is mostly a happy time, but it's also dotted with indignities

There’s no classy way out of a trip. Even worse if you fall. Herself was wandering down to the shop with Daughter Number Four when exactly that happened.

Before she hit the ground she could feel her face blushing, along with the realisation that it was going to hurt. She sustained classic toddler injuries – scraped knees and hands – but the absolute worst part was the good Samaritan couple who arrived on the scene and helped her to her feet.

After they departed Daughter Number Four, who has some experience in these kinds of mishaps, advised Herself that it would be perfectly acceptable to have a cry at this point. Being a grown-up girl, Herself declined and they continued to the shop; only to find themselves behind the Good Samaritans at the checkout queue. Cringe.

Obviously for the elderly or the disabled a trip or a fall can have serious physical peril, but for most others the worst aspect is the clawing embarrassment that it provokes: it’s always worse if other people witness it. Why is a mystery. A bit like farting, it’s something we all do but like to pretend we don’t.

There is an anthropological school of thought that it’s something to do with not displaying weakness to other members of the herd. If you trip when you’re going around the supermarket, the other shoppers might beat you to death. Or it’s yet another of the many manifestations of social anxiety.

The juvenile part of my brain considered saying that Herself would feel much better if she had a lollipop and 20 minutes watching Peppa Pig

Or it could be something to do with our expectations of what adult life should be like. You’d like to think that childhood is mostly a happy time, but it’s also dotted with indignities. Kids wet themselves. They have to be dressed. They are often scared and confused. They get teased by other children.

They fall over. At the time, of course, they tend not to see any of this as embarrassing – they’ve nothing to compare it to – but growing into adulthood can often be tinged with the relief of not having to go through any of that again.

A trip or a fall can wrench you back to that time, that sense of complete dependence on others, which, for an autonomous adult, can be a little frightening: very frightening when you consider that, to a greater or lesser degree, we will all eventually return to that condition. The indignities will come back.

At home Herself announced that we were selling the house to avoid ever having to run into those nice people ever again. The juvenile part of my brain considered saying that Herself would feel much better if she had a lollipop and 20 minutes watching Peppa Pig. The other part of my brain – the one that pays bills and looks up the weather forecast every day – decided against it. I think I made the grown-up choice.