Difficult question.
I *have* been a teenager after all, so the list of stupid things I have done is quite long. Here's a recent (mid-30s) one though.

I build models. No, not the Linda Evangelista type, and not the Airfix type. I take raw materials and carve/bend/shape.

I'll work any material I can get my hands on. Wood, plastics, metal... whatever. And I'll build whatever comes to mind. There's a load of reasons for this, but the most important one here is that it gives me something else to do other than drink in the evenings.

Many of you will have been there. The slope from boredom to alcoholism is attactively steep, isn't it? And if like me you just can't switch off in the evening, there's comfort to be found in the bottom of the bottle.

It slows you down. It removes that hard-earned stress. It lets you sleep.

So that's why you can find me at 10pm using a bandsaw, or a Dremel(tm) or a drill. And not drinking.

There's a flaw in the logic though. Here it is.

"Drunk people will suddenly get the inspiration to do something - no matter how dangerous or stupid."

Half six on a sunny, summer afternoon. I'd just washed and waxed my car, and then the missus' motor, while enjoying a six-pack of Stella. I changed clothes then plonked myself in front of the idiot box. Out the corner of my eye, I could see the model I was currently building. And in my mind's eye, I could see the small modification what needed to be done.

It wasn't difficult. It wasn't something that required all the skills I have learned in the last ten years.

But it was something that needed me to be sober. I wasn't.

Not-so-random fact: Did you know that cyano-acrylite - also known as Superglue - was invented as a field suture/stitch for soldiers? It can seal a wound faster than you can say "Oh God - I've stuck my bollocks to my leg!!!"

I had none. I didn't need it for this job.

I looked at the model. I saw the grain. I honoured the balsa tree that had given its life to my hobby by contemplating how I would apply the knife.



I slipped...



I cut...




...right through my left hand. Down into the bone.

After the OhNoSecond had passed, blood started to *pump* out of my mangled paw. I applied paper towels with little effect. They turned red and soggy almost immediately. I applied more paper towels and fixed them with maskng tape. They fell off as my traitorous heart pumped the red stuff through my arteries.

In shock, I phoned the missus, who was at her parent's house. "Does... does your dad have any Superglue?"

I like to blame myself for the fact that it took her half an hour to get home with it. Maybe I didn't stress the urgency.

In the end I found an old bottle of the stuff, cut it open with a hacksaw and got enough out to seal the wound before she got home. Empty-handed.

"Dad's had dried out!" she said.




I don't dare tell her how close she was to claiming on the insurance policy. I still have no feeling in two fingers (middle and ring) on my left hand.
(Guizmeaux, Thu 20 Dec 2007, 19:41, Reply)