» School fights

I was always a bit pathetic...
Much smaller than my classmates, lacking in co-ordination and able to loose an armwrestle to anyone I wasn't exactly going to win any fights. Most people didn't bother, it hardly had any kudos attatched to it.

Still one guy clearly decided that I was fair game. I'd have called him a chicken if the reality wasn't that he could still win easily, and thus I didn't want to provoke anything.

Now I wasn't stupid. I realised I had no hope of 'winning,' nor did I even care for the kudos. (I was a bit of a pacifist, still am in many ways) I just didn't want to get hurt. So when he aproached I led down on the floor, leading to his beausment and his wandering off when he realised that other than kicking me while I led on the floor (From where I could at least protect nose, face, testicles etc.) there was very little he could actually do.

Pathetic, and not a technique that would work in all circumstances (And one that could have gone wrong) but still, I was fairly relieved at the time.
(Sun 12th Mar 2006, 21:16, More)

» When animals attack...

Cows, Squirels, Chickens and imaginary monkeys
When I was about eight I was taking the dog for a walk in a nearby field with my Dad. We had got halfway across the field when from out of nowhere (Well okay, it was from out of the adjacent field, but the concept of cows materialising out of nothingness is quite amusing) came a cow, which began to charge towards us. (Yes, I know Bulls are more traditional) My Dad grabbed a branch, peresumably to beat off the cow, while I ran for the gate, which seemed bloody far away to my little legs. I'm still not sure what to feel about the image of my Dad 'heroicly' wielding a stick at charging cattle. Still, I'm even more disturbed by the memory that I somehow managed to write about this in an English SATs exam when I was thirteen.

I have also attracted the unfavourable attentions of a squirrel, which decided that my head was good target practice. I was quite bemused to be hit in the head with an old apple core (I know they traditionaly through nuts, but as my bovine attacket was also 'nut' free I'm noticing a trend.) even more so when I noticed the prepatrator looking own on me from a tree above.

Going back a bit more now I have just also remembered being attacked by a chicken. (Again 'nut' free) I was tiny at the time and they had come into our garden from nextdoor. My mum suggested I go out and play with them. I can't remember the attack itself, but I do remember sitting on my Dad's knee and being fed Smarties. I later peretended I was a pirate thanks to my black eye (I was slightly confused there I think.) Infact, looking back I was close to actually loosing an eye there.

The monkey was going to appear here, but then I remembered the chicken. As the monkey was imaginary and thus didn't do any damage outside physchological and a fear of walldrobes I will leave it out in favour of the chicken, leaving tasty morsels here to make the story sound more interesting than it actually was.
(Sat 4th Jun 2005, 23:56, More)

» Scars with history

Owch
When I was 12 I was helping my Dad remove a big chunk of concrete so as to build a utility room. I was going at it with hammer and chisle (Be quite you dirty minded person) and not making great progress. My Dad, probably wanting to avoid me getting hurt, asked to borrow the hammer. No matter, I'd just smash the chisel up and down.

SMASH
SMASH
SMASHAGGGHER!

I was hitting things a lot harder than I though I was, as I discovered when the thing I happened to hit was the little finger on my right hand. Being a 'late bloomer' I screamed like a girl and franticaly grabbed my finger (Which was still attatched) and jumped up and down alot. My parents, becoming concerned asked what had happened. I showed them my finger, or rather the mass ammounts og blood which had been spewing out of it when I covered it with my hand.

Isn't it odd how things always seem to hurt more when there is blood involved. I began to cry, not an unusual thing I must add, for as well as being a late bloomer I also got upset easily. (I know, I see why people thought I was such a twunt now.) Granted though It was bloody painful and I imagine I'd still cry now, or at least whimper and dance about a lot.

My finger nail turned black and was pushed off as another grew underneath it. I now have a scar strectching from the fingernail to about halfway to the first knuckle. The adjacent finger carries a scar as well, where I was bitten by a rabbit. That time I just swore and felt rather peeved.
(Fri 4th Feb 2005, 21:23, More)

» Misunderstood

More phone confusion...
All the talk of phonecalls has reminded me of something.

I had got into a big argument with a friend at school, it was a fairly common occurance and ocasionaly escalated to the level at which backing down becomes far more significant than it should be. (It is also helpful to point out that I was about 14 at the time.)

Anyway, it was fairly near the end of the day and thus I went home still grumbling and not talking to him. However as I cooled down a bit I realised that my reaction was probably OTT and I should at least make steps to apologise. So I phoned up and made a fairly convoluted appology. Once I had finished the voice on the end of the line replied, "So I'll just go and get Ben for you shall I?" as I had spent the last five minutes apologising to his Dad.
(Sun 9th Oct 2005, 19:15, More)

» It was a great holiday, but...

Literaly five minutes in...
Our family was never really one for foreign holidays, mainly because they were a bit out of our price range. So most holidays were spent in Britain, but as we all get on this wasn't a problem and we didn't end up killing each other. (We came close in Dartmoor) Anyway on holiday in Wales and stopped off in Haverford west to grab a bit of shopping and waste the day before we could dump our stuff off at the cottage.

Found a car-park at the top of a hill and stepped out of the car for the first time since leaving home. Wales was as Wales does and the whole place was dark with the morning's rain. We proceeded to walk down into the town chatting about plans for the holiday. My Dad was walking behind me, chatting to one of my brothers, and had somehow got into a conversation which involved coming up with lots of words which rhymed with bear. "The bear over there on the stair with the..." My Dad decided to sit down rather suddenly, or rather was forced into doing so. His leg went under him and he cried out in pain.

While the sympathy was with him for about half an hour, continual complaints about the pain wore a bit thin as we wandered round Haverford-West. About two hours later we drove to a nearby beach, my Dad at the wheel, making noises of pain every time he stood on the brake.

After about six hours of walking on his leg, and driving with it, he finally decided to visit the hospital. The doctors confirmed that it had fractured at the ankle and any excessive force could have caused it to shatter. He ended up needing an epidural, having his leg set in plaster, and spent the rest of the holiday sitting looking out the window.

The rest of us had fun though. Injuries on our holidays are a tradition though.
(Sat 23rd Apr 2005, 0:39, More)