What, no blood?
When I were a lad, health & safety were two words that existed in their own right without being so inextricably linked as to ruin anything that may constitute fun.

This meant that blood would be spilled with alarming frequency and on the many times it was, my brothers and I would usually receive a swift slap and a "don't be so bloody stupid next time" from our dear mother.

So it was, when Dad returned one sunny afternoon with a tatty old see-saw that lifted far into the air, as well as spinning around in circles, my Mum simply tutted to herself and checked the cupboard for plasters while the three of us established who would first be subject to this unfounded joy that lay before us.

Dad would have been long gone, probably satisfied that he could sit in front of the motor racing without distraction. Mum would have been grateful for the peace and quiet, relaxing at the other end of the garden as the faint sound of lawnmowers provided a drone on top of which the sound of birdsong and the happy laughter of kids would add a merry melody (she knew well enough that silence indicated bad behaviour and only then need she concern herself as to our activities).

Completely unsupervised then, my older brother accessed his deviance gene and quickly formed a plan that would shatter this scene of domestic bliss, at the expense of yours truly, for he was a little shit in that way...

Spinning as quickly as the rusty old see-saw would allow, he waited until I was at the very peak of the spin when he dug his feet in and stopped fast. Not expecting such a battle with inertia my grip was weak and I found myself describing a perfect arc through the air before making my acquaintance with the ground below. My arms failed to take the opportunity to provide a buffer between face and ground, so my nose had to do it all by itself.

....

silence

.....

Older & younger sibling stood, watching, waiting.

......

I peeled myself from the hole my nose had dug in the soil and raised a nervous, shaking hand to my face, expecting blood, lots and lots of blood.

......

The sudden silence rang in Mum's ears like a fire alarm and she warmed her hands together in anticipation of reddening backsides.

.......

But there was nothing. My nose had met with the hard ground at such a pace that it should surely have bled furiously, and condemned big brother to a meeting with Mr Slipper, but it didn't. He'd gotten away scot free and I was told to stop my snivelling, as there was clearly nothing wrong with me.

That day set a precedent for my nose, as many a clash during rugby and football matches, the occasional fight I failed to avoid during my school days and much youthful misadventure failed entirely to draw blood from it. I haven't tested this theory for some years now, and with my aversion to fighting, pain & sport, don't intend to test it again any time soon, but until proven otherwise I will always believe that my nose is incapable of providing blood... and long may that be the case.
( Moey, Fri 8 Aug 2008, 10:56, Reply)