Crown of Thorns
Took an old door up to the council tip to dump it. It was basicaly a 'garden door' wooden framed with about 12 small rectangular panes of glass in it.
All the workers at the tip sit around drinking tea for most of the day and only come to help you if you're about to dump something that they could keep for themselves or sell on Ebay. Their Portakabin is fully equipped with sofas, armchairs, TV, microwave, 'fridge etc all 'saved' from being binned.
As it was a summer's day they were all sat outside on some garden furniture, drinking tea and watching all the poor punters struggling to heave things into the skips. The door I had brought up to dump was not particularly heavy but as the handle had been removed it was hard to get a grip on it.
The tip staff watched me struggle for a while but none came to help. I had the brainwave of hefting it up onto my head and carrying it like an African woman going to market if she had a market stall selling garden doors.

I tried to make this look easy just to spite the hi-viz mafia but hadn't quite thought it through. As I easily lifted it on, the top of my head broke through the very centre glass panel and the jagged edges of the broken glass around the frame wedged onto my crown so I was wearing the door like a hat. Some of them heard the glass break and looked over but I made the decision to tough it out and carry on as though nothing had happened. Walked up the ramp, carefully lifted the door off my head (more painful than when it went on), threw the door into the skip and dusted my hands off in sitcom style before nonchalantly strolling back to my car.
After I got home I told my wife the story and we both giggled stupidly as she spent about 30 minutes picking shards of glass out of my scalp.
Length? Longest scar was about an inch.
(Barnetboy, Thu 21 Mar 2013, 13:15, Reply)