Walking catlaogue of disaster: Brace yerself betty.
Via some twisted fate every accident I have is embarassing, but none of which match those from my teeneage days:

1) On holiday in france with the folks, we stop off to get some food from the supermarket, at the till point Mum and Dad are packing and pay the bill, all the time I'm off daydreaming with my head in hands and elbows on the conveyor belty thing: can you see it yet?, yup, it's time to go but I find myself suddenly unable to move 'cos the skin on my right elbow has (god knows how) become one with the conveyor belt. Que my dad and a felow tourist fighting the conveyor to free me, one very confused store manager attempting to dissasemble said conveyor with a tiny screwdriver from a cracker and one histerical cashier. They freed my arm and was promptly whisked out back by the manager to have my elbow sunk into iced fish. Yummy.

Two days later was chased along the whole length of a beach by a mad alsatian who decided to pounce.

2) Fell off a STATIONARY bicycle head first over the handlebars twisting a tooth 90 degs and leaving me with a nice hitler-tash shaped scab on my top lip..... school photo next day, couldn't wash my hair cos it hurt so much, so became a mini-hitler in the shot.

3) closed a pen-kinfe on my finger and had to have 8 stitches on my knuckle

4) Hit by some 80's volvo wielding bitch on my bicycle...
only to cycle into the back of a parked car a month later, again mashing my face up

5) Whilst hiking in Dartmoor we de-camp to finish off the trip only to find that my mate is shit at packing, so the cooking equipment ends up at the top of my rucksack causing a slight imbalance. fine.
an hour away from the end of the hike we find ourselves being followed by a herd of sheep so we start to bleet back at them. Bleet Bleet! I trip forwards, regain my balance only for the top heavy rucksack to continue in its trajectory smacking me in the back of my head and then head first into a rather large rock. Our leader over-panics and heads off to call help. I'm insisting that I'm fine, that my heads a bit sore, but no one will let me move. Cue the air-ambulance helicopter thingy. neck restarint, strapped onto a board and slotted into the arse the helicopter. the space is the size of a coffin, your head pokes out the other end and you stare through the windows in the roof. I'm told by the medic no to close my eyes. Cue lovely view of spinning sky and spinning rotorblades. once we land and I'm in hospital i'm still strapped to the board like some mummy, unable to move when the "bang head:be sick" urge kicks in and whilst attempting to gurgle for the nurse chunder into the neck restraint and all over my self. after 10 minutes of marinading and calling, the nurse arrives, and cleans me up. only to be stripped, flipped over and injected in the arse with a very long needle, "to stop it happening again".

I was later discharged as "there is nothing wrong".

6) Lastly, out with the mates recently, got totally lashed, we part company and ('cos i look silly when I run) they yell "run forest run!" at me as I run to the bus stop. People in the street yell "run forest!" too, as I promptly run into a lamp post... thats twice now.

maybe my post needs a diet?
(Lemster the sound of one luma clamping, Mon 6 Sep 2004, 0:31, Reply)