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.