Not my blood, but...
I once flew to the Czech Republic to visit a friend over Christmas and New Year, I had a serious bout of flu, but that's rather irrelevent.

Flew into Prague about 9pm, got picked up around 10ish after customs etc... then driven for hours in a 23 year old Skoda with no lights, in a blizard to a place called Starry Pilnec.

When we got there, despite the flu, we went into a pub called 'non-stop' - no prizes for guessing what time that one closed!

Anyway, I get in there and there's all these big burly central european looking geezers with big mistaches etc... and one HUGE bloke.

The huge bloke comes over and starts laughing and chatting with me (sounded like, nyetz mityev nanninsk nipple-tweak, fokyo, but I digress).

After a quick translation from aforementioned friend it turns out that on Christmas eve this chap was ploughing his (small) field with a hand plough. The hand-plough had one handle missing exposing a rather nasty and rusty spiked peice of metal.

Yep, as he's pushing it, it gets stuck in the ground and he impales his stomach on it.

Rather than go to hospital like a rather more normal person, he just walks calmly to his house, pulls out an old (typically white!) t-shirt and rips it into a makeshift bandage, wraps it round himself and walks to the pub to numb the pain.

Now this is 29th December - he's been in 'non-stop' for 6 days!!! His clothes are completely covered in a dark crimson coloured load of claret, yet STILL he hasn't eaten or gone to a hospital.

His black trousers were purple.

How the hell he was still alive is beyond me!
(dchurch bah, Mon 11 Aug 2008, 14:20, Reply)