Where'd it all come from?
Once upon a time, when I had a job, the small-minded twunts at Head Office decided to reduce the risk of injury by replacing all the Stanley Knives with poncey little safety blades. I took one of these home to explore it's effectiveness, and had a bit of a play about, carving up plastic items I found around the house. Now there is a simple equation: booze + blade = Cut finger, and sure enough in no time I had sliced a notch out of my left index finger. I did all the usual things, you know, running water, plaster, etc, but it wouldn't stop spouting the claret. In the end - after a bandage and a bunch of plasters - I gave up and sat with my wounded finger over a pint mug, which then proceeded to fill up. By the time it had finally stopped I'd lost the best part of a pint. I set the glass down and got back to the serious business of drinking and watching a dvd.
At which point the large white cat I lived with decided to have a drink...
(Mr Steve is jobless and fancyfree!, Wed 13 Aug 2008, 10:45, Reply)