Went through a first floor window, my jumper caught on the latch which helped catapult me round a full 360 degrees rather than fall head first, which was lucky as I landed on my feet. Less lucky was that I landed on concrete so the impact shattered my left heel bone (still much better than being dead!). Was initially told I wouldn’t walk properly again, but a plate and a few pins have worked wonders over the last 20 years, and it’s not normally noticeable bar the odd day when I limp a bit.

Every five years or so, I’ve had check ups where the consultant gets excited about the fact that I can still walk more than a mile- he’s always assured me it’ll eventually become too painful to walk on and I’ll need to have my ankle fused. While it is getting worse, I’m still hiking whenever I can and hoping to get a few more years out of it before it becomes too unpleasant. Can’t see us getting anywhere near completing the Munros, but we’re definitely on for finishing the Wainwrights.

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Standing at the end of a bar ordering a drink and somebody nudging past caught against a crate of tonic water bottles which fell to the floor and exploded. Lots of little nicks around my lower legs which bled like fuck, but the big event was the chunk of glass that flew up and lodged in my wrist. An ambulance was called because of the bloodbath around my feet. My friends were trying to persuade me to pull the glass out of my wrist to “see how bad it was” but some kind of self preservation kicked in and I refused. When the paramedics arrived they weren’t at all worried about my foot and leg lacerations (which were superficial despite being bloody) but they were all like “DO NOT TOUCH THAT GLASS IN YOUR HAND” and I was blue lighted to hospital where it was removed properly and stitched. I was smashed (like the bottles) so thought it was all terribly funny but when I went to get the wound checked the following week I realised that apparently the cut was at one of the worst places for blood loss and the glass was keeping me from losing a lot of blood with presumably not good consequences. So I’m pretty grateful that I didn’t let Amanda, who was a second year medical student on ecstasy, pull it out just to satisfy her curiosity.

Got a cool scar that is pretty tiny and faded now (it was 1996 it happened),

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This is some tale!!!

Funnily enough, Amanda had a best friend who was with us that day, who was also called Amanda, although wasn’t a medic. She pretty much runs the NHS now. God bless the amandas, and the NHS!

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I was shooting a ruler with my BB Gun and all the shards flew into my eye and scratched it. Told the hospital I was just snapping rulers. Had to wear an eye patch.

Just a kid in his room snapping rulers to pass the time.

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Climbing lamp posts outside warhammer club and I slipped and sliced down my wrist on one of those B303 signs and there was loads and loads and loads of blood.

Ive got a scar down my nose from when I tried to leave a drunken one night stand in the night with the lights off and walked straight through an internal glass door separating the front door from the hallway. Woke up everyone in the house and had to be taken to a+e with blood literally pumping out of my nose. Was lucky not to scratch an eye or worse.

At a+e they clearly thought id been in a scrap so they left me waiting for ages. No idea that my weak alibi about walking straight through a door in the dark was completely true.

Now that’s classic UP :joy::+1::grinning:

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Any particular monarch or despot?

In September 2002, I had a couple of 1st year resit exams to do. I’d headed back to Bristol early and much to my benefit, so had one of my friends who lived with us, as well as one of his course mate’s, who had chosen to live at his parents gaff, 10 miles outside of Bristol. This meant that he spent much of the year living on our sofa, getting stoned and playing Zelda on my TV, without once asking. None of this information is particularly relevant, I’m just very grudgeful. One lunchtime, the day before a Materials Engineering exam, I found myself in the glorious position of both desiring a corned beef sandwich and being in possession of the all the elements required to successfully create a corned beef sandwich. Chuffed, for once, I set about opening the can of corned beef. Yes, that’s correct, I had bought a can of corned beef and probably a cut price version of corned beef too, I certainly wasn’t made of the sort of money required to buy corned beef by the slice, that’s for sure, so it is.

Anyway, having used the key (love using those keys, such fun, much twisting) to open the can, I attempted to prise it apart, using nothing but my brute strength and less attention than would later become apparent, was required. Regrettably for your friend, me, my right index finger mistook the sharp edge of the can for something to press really hardly against. I bled, dear reader. I bled a considerable amount. sure, there are no arteries at the end of my finger, and for that I’m thankful, because I continued to bleed, lots of blood, and definitely didn’t do the sensible thing, which would have been to seek medical assistance. instead, I sought help from a box of Elastoplast. Must have done a pretty good job too, as it probably stopped bleeding for a while. Rather annoyingly, given the fact I have a three hour written exam the next day, I’m right handed (<— absolute fact nugget) so when when I spent 3 hours squeezing a pen the next day I managed to apply about as much blood to the paper as I did ink. When I finished I wrote an apology explaining the errors of my previous day. Either I had revised properly, or the marker was very squeamish and took a lot of pity on me as it turned out to be one of the best grades I got in my entire course. (only counted as 40, though, stupid resit policy) Still got a scar on my finger.

Up later, or tomorrow or maybe never, the time I got drunk and fell six feet headfirst into concrete.

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Interestingly my mates called the ambulance for my aforementioned Wii catastrophe and they sent a riot van! No idea why. People were in the back screaming and swearing. Despite the blood spurting out of my hand I chose to wait for the ambulance.

The hospital was far from my house so I had to stay at my mates mothers that night covered in blood. She took me home the next day and picked some of her mates up for bingo. None of them seemed to bat an eyelid at the bloodstained man in the back of her car.

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Tons.

Had about a foot long icicle fall on my head outside the front doorway to my house once, required 12 stitches.

I have obtained the following injuries mostly playing football (of the american variety):

Broken Collarbone
Broken wrist (twice)
3-4 broken fingers
broken left leg
God knows how many severe sprains

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Not as bad, only superficial injuries, but when I was about 15 me and a mate had a race across a car park giving 2 girls piggy backs, and I slipped, with my arms holding the girl behind me, and slid face first across the gravel with the weight of the girl I was carrying on my head. Teeth were thankfully fine but wasn’t a pretty sight for a while afterwards.

Chopped the end of my finger off trapping it in a door when I was kid. When it healed people at school said my finger looked like a penis. As if that was an insult.

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:grimacing:

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A housemate once, quite badly, burnt his face taking baked beans out of the microwave. One exploded and missed his eye by about 2mm.

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