London 2001
Coming to the last few weeks of my Uni degree myself and my fellow musician society members decided to have a last hurrah down in London.
I was very depressed around this time as I knew I was going back to Scotland to a marriage I wasn't happy in and I was pretty much permanently drunk to block the world out.

Unfortunately, my depression meant I got really aggressive when I'd had a few. I'd sunk around 8 cans of Stella during the day, and the hot weather had contributed to my inebriated state and I was fairly sozzled by the time we went out.

I managed to get us all kicked out of the Indian restaurant we were eating at for being generally obnoxious and abusive to the staff, so my friends understandably took exception and buggered off and left me stuck in the middle of Hampstead.

I eventually managed to make my way back to the youth hostel after my alcohol-homing system kicked in. I went up to the room and finding no-one there decided to punch the window. It went through easy enough, on the way out however, I managed to leave a large chuck of my wrist on the jagged shards. Cue a spray or arterial red. I stumbled down to reception holding my arm and waved it about at the guy manning the desk. Avoiding the arcing scoosh of blood, the nice man kindly phoned and ambulance after wrapping a bandage round my damaged limb.

I got to Hampstead hospital and sat and waited...and waited...and waited. Two hours later I finally twigged that I hadn't checked in at reception. After this it was another two hours before I was seen to and by this time I was in a pretty bad way and they had to wheel me into the surgery as my legs had pretty much ceased to function.

I knew it wasn't good when the doctor peeled the sodden bandage off and grimaced. Where there had been nice, smooth skin was now a gaping hole in the centre of wrist, tendons and muscle clearly visible. By this time I had grey creeping in the corner of my vision and I could feel my self slipping into oblivion. Deciding I didn't care if I woke up or not I let myself drift.

I awoke to a vision of auburn loveliness, a gorgeous redhead in a nurses uniform.
"You've been a silly boy, haven't you?" she said in an Australian accent with a slight mocking tone, which roughly translated as, "You've been a complete wanksock, haven't you?"
Nodding dumbly, I gingerly raised my arm. It was now whole again, but I now had four seperate areas of stitching, and my fingers were stiff and a little bit blue.
I was informed I'd sliced a vein, which had explained the jet, and lost a lot of blood.

I've never been so dumb again, but I can't wear a watch on my left wrist as all the scar tissue tethered itself around the nerves, and my hand just goes completely dead.
( Boss Keloid Got your mother's maiden name tattooed on my arm, Fri 8 Aug 2008, 13:12, Reply)