Not sure where I'm going. Ask the security guard on reception.
"What course are you here for?" he queries, removing a Biro from between his lips.
I tell him.
"Have you got any jokes?"
I haven't - I'm here to meet girls.
He directs me to the correct room, where most of my classmates are already seated.
One woman - approaching 40, with a chin for each decade of her life - discards her shoes to indicate she's a kook. Her two big toes stand to attention - the other eight curl in like the claws of the cat she undoubtedly owns.
Next to her sits a lad about my age called Dan. Already knows the tutor. Organises comedy nights, apparently. Twat.
A blonde girl catches my eye. Boobs like something from a period drama starring Kate Winslet - ample yet suppressed, aching to be liberated.
We're shown a VHS of classic sitcom moments: David Brent dancing in The Office; Norm fretting that Cheers will become a gay bar. I swallow a chuckle - you don't laugh on the back row.
Until you notice Winslet Bosom in hysterics - then you join in.
The tutor, a spinster named Jenny, calls an interlude. Everyone heads to the water cooler for a drink. Try to finish mine in one gulp but overestimate the capacity of my throat. Can't stop coughing - people are starting to stare. A small blob of snot falls on to my notepad. I swivel to see if Winslet Bosom witnessed my nasal indiscretion. She flashes a sympathetic smile. Damn.
Next we're asked to share any ideas we already have. Most of us keep schtum. A sole voice is heard - that of a Jewish woman who, it's agreed, might be on to something with her sitcom about a randy rabbi. I look her up and down. Always had a thing for Jewish girls - but this one's got sideburns.
That's it for today. Pack away my stuff at a pace designed to ensure I bump into Winslet Bosom on the way out. Except Dan has the same idea - and beats me to introductions.
It gets worse. The two of them are heading right - I'm going left. He's going to do a Goebbels on me - feeding her propaganda so she won't give me a second look.
Fuck it - I'm tagging along for a bit, even though it's well out of my way.
Turns out they live in the same part of Manchester. Great - they'll probably end up car sharing.
"You've come all the way from Liverpool for this?" queries Dan, with an expression of faux surprise intended to make me look like a loser.
"It only took me half an hour to get here," I lie.
He completely blanks me for the next five minutes while trying all his best lines on Winslet Bosom.
The path narrows and I'm forced to walk a few steps behind until we reach a multi-storey car park.
"I think me and Natalie are both in here - where are you parked?" asks Dan.
"Oh, just a bit further along," I reply, convincingly.
The two of them disappear through some swing doors and into a lift. Bet he tries it on. Pervert.
I turn back to find my car. Thirty seconds later I'm startled by a loud beep. It's Dan - window down, stereo up.
"I thought you were parked over there?" he yells, but doesn't slow down to hear my answer.
Takes me 20 minutes to track down my car and another hour to get home. What a shit night.
To be continued (unless nothing much happens next week)…