no seatbelt, Drove through telephone pole, drunk and cops still gave me a ride home -- off scott free!
So, I'm 17. Out at a nightclub where I met a lovely bartender which I ended up shagging a few weeks later -- anyway, this night we met and she bought me drinks ALL night. Cue 2 am, driving home, no seat belt, and fell asleep at the wheel. Awoke to a tremendously loud BANG! and blurred visions of small sapling trees going by the car windows. Another tree. BANG. full stop.

Car in front of me noticed I drove of the road and stopped. They were kind enough to ask if I was alright (which I was, strangely, besides the concussion from the windscreen I hit) -- then they pointed out the Telephone pole completely across the street -- Apparently I had driven right through it. Cops showed up. Another lovely female and she had me sit in her car (it was cold). Came in, interviewed me and casually asked if I had anything to drink. I lied and said ONE beer and feel asleep because I was up all drink previously studying for final exams. She let me off, and even drove me home. Oh, and the car had perfect semi-circle in the front of the car, from the telephone pole.
(gaustoninDC, Fri 20 Aug 2010, 19:16, 12 replies)

I was posting on QOTW,
when I happened to make a few spelling mistakes and grammatical errors.
Also the story was a bit dull and portrayed me in a less than perfect light. Thankfully I noticed in time, and made the necessary changes before posting, so I narrowly avoided a load of unsavoury and unsolicited replies from self important cunts with nothing better to do.

Phew!
( TheFinch is getting to grips with the complex plane on, Fri 20 Aug 2010, 19:08, 13 replies)

I am on borrowed time.
1 was meant to be on Southall train that crashed but rearranged my schedule that day for no apparant reason.
2 was meant to be on the Ladboke Grove train but missed the train that morning due to getting my leg over.
3 saw the beginnings of the 100 car pile up on the M40 j8 in my rear view mirror which I would have been in the centre of had I taken the right hand slip road as normal.
4 was in a plane that left JFK and within a minute had stalled due to turbulance, dropped but recovered. just. (3 months later, it happened again and it crashed into a suburb killing all on board) Was due to not enough gap between flights.
5 was stepping on an escalator as a kid. mum grabbed and stopped me. A step had collapsed and left a hole all the way through to the machinery where I was about to step.

So karma must be saving something extra special for me to go out with.
( Ulic hissing slightly, Fri 20 Aug 2010, 18:51, 5 replies)

Failing to leave for a half-day Friday ...
... led to me missing the Southall Rail Crash (19/09/1997). If I'd left my Reading office when I'd hoped to, I'd have been on that train. As it was, I heard about it in the office, and headed off to catch the slow train.

(Never mind that I usually sat in coach A, at the back of the train to London, one of the coaches that didn't even come off the track: I'm still telling that story today. 8)
( bnt what, me worry?, Fri 20 Aug 2010, 18:48, Reply)

One lucky ducker
In the summer of my first year uni, I was enjoying a BBQ with friends. We used a disposable BBQ, which needed to be slightly elevated for ventilation or some outher white mans magic. Friend who was cooking decided the best possible course of action was to use the cardboard box the BBQ came in. "It'l burn" we warned. "I'm not putting it in the fire you retards." came his reply.

The box quickly caught fire, which ment we had to quickly fashion a means of getting the BBQ free. Two beaches snapped from a bush and jobs a good'un, though this left the problem of the burning box. My friend decides the quickest way to solve the problem was to kick it as hard as he could. This propelled the box directly towards my face. The distance was about 3 feet, the speed was fairly quick, yet somehow I managed to throw myself flat. The box sailed over me and landed in the dry bush behind, which promptly continued not being on fire.

"What the hell!" I cried. He honestly didn't see the problem. Granted, unless it used four star to gel my hair I wasn't in danger of death, but I could have suffered some burns to my face, which I wouldent have been to happy with.
(Mong goose, Fri 20 Aug 2010, 17:56, Reply)

Bloody scallies.
As a student in Salford in the mid '90s I was used to being woken from my alcohol and marijuana induced semi-coma by the sounds of the local kids shouting, smashing stolen cars and generally misbehaving.
One morning in 1995 [I think] they really overdid themselves. This particular morning they had, somehow, managed to find the world's biggest firework and make it go off outside the window of the 19th floor flat I was sleeping in. To give you some idea of how loud it was, through double glazing, I would generally sleep through a fire alarm most mornings (we had a few).
Well, briefly roused from my slumber, I cursed the little scallies and went back to sleep.
An hour or two later I went to the communal kitchen for a drink, only to be greeted by a couple of my flatmates asking "did you hear it!?!?", "Have you seen the height of the cloud!?!?" and "Do you think anyone was killed?".
Turns out that it wasn't some scallies in the estate that woke me -- but some pricks that called themselves "The IRA".
Oh, sorry, the "lucky escape" angle? I did keep thinking about getting up early and going to town.
(Me, I'm not... in any way intoxicated, Fri 20 Aug 2010, 17:47, Reply)

11/9
Not me but my Nan's best friend's son in law works in New York and worked in one of the towers which was hit. On the morning of it though, his wife had gone to hospital thinking she was in labour so he turned round as he got to Manhattan and went to the hospital. Then the attacks happened. Everyone thought he was killed but then he let everybody know he was all right and that it was the luckiest day of his life.
(52486 office lolled on, Fri 20 Aug 2010, 17:44, 2 replies)

Walked in front of a bus
My mother would appreciate the irony of this one. I was lighting up a cigarette and stepped onto the road, not looking what I was doing. I was literally an foot away from a bus travelling along but for some reason I stepped back onto the grass behind me and felt the bus speed past me beeping its horn. Not sure why I stepped back but after I didn't feel guilty about smoking! Really lucky escape. (I have quit since though).
(52486 office lolled on, Fri 20 Aug 2010, 17:37, 1 reply)

The London bombings
7th July 2005

I'd normally get the Number 30 bus to work, and would usually have been on it around the time it blew up, though obviously I might have had a lucky day and been on a different bus. However...

On this particular day, I'd stayed at a friend's and had a training course near Aldgate away from where I usually worked, so I got the tube. I was making good time and so got off it early to meet a friend for coffee at Kings Cross. 8 minutes later it blew up.

The training was rescheduled for 21st July - the date of the second attempted terrorist attacks. I went by bike.
(I'm afraid of wet bread, Fri 20 Aug 2010, 17:15, Reply)

I came out of the closet on Christmas Day
My whole family was there. My heart was gonna pound through my chest it felt like.

I had to leg it, before they caught me and locked me back in.
(CactusZack Shaved his coin purse on, Fri 20 Aug 2010, 17:13, 1 reply)

I don't even own an IRA.

( Dr Preference AjcuiVd289, Fri 20 Aug 2010, 16:44, 2 replies)

I was a mere 189 miles away when the IRA set off their bomb in Warrington in 1993.

( Amorous Badger NAKED BEA ARTHUR PHOTOS 4U, Fri 20 Aug 2010, 16:24, 10 replies)

Now it's a funny anecdote..
It was Summer of 2000 when as a student I decided to go and teach English to kids for the Summer.
My destination Israel for three weeks then Palestine for another three.
Things were a bit safer back then but not much safer.
I was definitely a lot more naive.
So when my Palestinian friend, Khalid asked if I'd like to go clubbing with him and his pals, I didn't think twice about jumping into the BMW.
'Nice motor,' was all I thought.
After a great night clubbing in Israel, we crossed through the heavily guarded checkpoint for the second time, when I asked.
'This is a nice car,' I said.
'Must have been expensive.'
'Oh no,' Khalid replied, laughing.
'It was free.'
'Free,' I said.
'Yousif stole it last night in Israel and brought it back.'
I started to sweat.
'And if the border guards had noticed?'
'You would have had to duck,' he laughed.
'Why didn't you tell me,' I replied, half angry, half relieved.
After all, I was in the back seat, the first to get shot to pieces.
'Well if I'd told you, you would never have come.'
I had to appreciate the logic, but to this day I still wonder how close I came to ending up in a bullet riddled stolen car somewhere in Palestine.
(henrya1, Fri 20 Aug 2010, 16:12, Reply)

Apologies
for the Honda Accordiality but I went through a phase of ruthlessly abusing certain substances. When I was in my mid-twenties I had foolishly accepted an invitation to go on holiday with my family to Spain. My folks are richer than Croesus and you just can't turn that kind of luxurious freebie down. Well, I can't.

The reason I say 'foolishly' is that I was at that juncture addicted to heroin. Trips abroad for the illicit addict are always problematic. If you wish to detox but can't afford to go private, then your first options are to go the GP and either be treated by him, if he is kind and knowledgeable enough to do so, or to be referred on to a local drop-in.

Becoming a state-sanctioned junkie means that you can take your methadone or other opiate substitute abroad to most, though by no means all, countries with an official letter from your doctor and one from the HO if necessary. But even then there always hovers at the back of your mind the dread possibility that your luggage might get lost or your precious green syrup accidentally spilt at any juncture, leaving you a sweating, vomiting wreck for the rest of your trip.

Also, if you do down this official route, you can kiss goodbye to a whole raft of potential jobs not to mention the possibility of affordable life-insurance later in life. I did the sensible thing instead, acquiring from a Philipino interweb pharmacy approx £400 worth of generic dihydrocodeine tablets, which were far smaller in size than their officially produced cousins, and a fetching shade of green rather than the more usual white. I needed about 15 tablets a day to feel normal and the holiday was for a week, which made for a very, some might say suspiciously, bulky wallet.

This being pre 9/11 we didn’t have to empty our pockets into x-ray crates but I was patted down by a security bloke after my belt set of the alarm. He pulled out my wallet and opened it up. My parents were looking back at me, wondering what the hold-up was. I actually felt my bowels loosen. “What’s in here then,” he said, stroking the bulging change pocket with his thumb. I shrugged and tried to smile nonchalantly. He popped open the little catch and peered in, then, for reasons I shall never know – especially that given their size and colour these pills would have looked like E’s to the uninitiated – he carefully closed it, said, “That’s all okay then,” and handed my wallet back to me.

I searched his face for a hint of irony or sympathy or ...anything but he just turned to check the next glut of through-coming travellers.

Thank you Stansted man. I got to eat a lot of lobster in the sun. And I'm clean now, too. *Spins wheels with Halford 'caps and sticks a few digits up the supermodel in the passenger seat*
(Happybara The jungle came alive and took him, Fri 20 Aug 2010, 16:03, 1 reply)

Short Cuts
I once drinking a big bottle of whisky at relations house, I'm in my 30's, my dad took it off me, I took offence as he is a border line alcoholic, I stormed out and tried to walk the few miles home.

I took a short cut though a field full of horses and probably nearly got trampled on and had a couple of scars on my wrists from the barbed wire fence.

Thank you to whoever was looking out for me that day.
(Mitchell Gant, Fri 20 Aug 2010, 16:02, 3 replies)

Motorcycles
When I was a child I had a habit of getting almost killed by motorbikes.

1) I was a toddler and I pulled a parked one over on top of me at a french holiday camp. It landed on top of me but I was absolutely fine as I fitted perfectly in the gap between handlebars and fuel tank.

2) I was playing "pooh sticks" on a bridge and failed to notice that a motorcycle was coming down the hill. I ran across the bridge to see my stick come out the other side and the bike just managed to not hit me.

3) I cycled into a motorbike when young. Mainly because I was looking at it and when you're wee you go where your head points!

This all came together in later life when I managed to crash my motorbike when working in Thailand. Whoops. That was a little sore.
( Nostrebor can't be everything all the time., Fri 20 Aug 2010, 15:57, Reply)

School massacre, saved by a television fluff piece
My school years were rather full of bullying. I was small, I was quiet, and I was good at mathematics: these things added together to form a rather large target for these young sociopaths. I counteracted the bullying with good grace – I hid and cried every day for a most of a school year. One of my fellow bullied school friends, however, took a much different approach.

My high school didn’t have much to be proud of – we were deemed one of the worst schools in the state with the worst standard of education in the nation. We were a gaggle of no-hopers, born from generations of destitution. Our town boasted the highest rate of child poverty in all of the United States, but was runner-up in child abuse. Our consolation prize was murder, an incredible amount of violence against our fellow man. As such, my school’s halls were full of The Disturbed and The Left Behind. These students, male and female alike, made it their mission to make the lives of all who may have had a chance of escaping this tainted and rocky cycle of deprivation a living hell. I had great visions of absconding from that rotten prison, as did the aforementioned student. Then his mood changed, and all hope one could see in his eyes was dashed.

And so, when one of the school teachers undertook a long-overshadowed charity event of some sort, a local television crew arrived to film it. As the presenter was setting up her piece-to-camera, the student’s locker neighbour came running up to her, “Are you here about the gun?” he excitedly shouted.

What started as a good news story quickly turned into a full school evacuation. We’d had some gun threats at a football match, so we wanted to be extra careful. I was on my way to my first class of the day - gym - when the alarm went off.

It transpired that this bullied student had started to slowly carry in his deceased father’s gun collection over the course of several weeks. Handguns, semi-automatic weapons, boxes upon boxes of ammunition, gallons of petrol and homemade bombs were recovered from the young man’s locker and car.

His plan was to kill the main perpetrators of his bullying and everybody else – innocent or not – involved in his torment. He got to school early and blocked all outdoor entries / exits to the school gym, including those of the locker rooms. He then planned on throwing homemade bombs into the boys’ and girls’ locker rooms. As the survivors attempted to run away, they would have found all exits blocked. This would have made them easy pickings, which would have allowed the gunman to then fire upon the panicked students as they tried to flee. Once satisfied with his kill, he planned on setting fire to the gym. Planned death toll: 80, more if it tickled his fancy.

In its place, a kid happened to see just a single gun in a bag and wanted his face in the local television news limelight. This, just seconds before the bell rang and all 100 of those kids went to gym class. Seconds.

I was in that targeted gym class and constantly wonder what would have happened if all those pieces hadn’t fallen into place – if the locker neighbour hadn’t spied something suspicious, if the television news crew wasn’t there. Would this kid have told a teacher or would he have allowed it to go ahead? What if the news crew had gotten there just two minutes later? What if this, what if that? Columbine, when it happened two years later, would have been a tragic follow-up to a much bigger event.

Instead, it barely made the local news. You’ve never heard of my hometown. It is tragic, but it isn’t the site of a tragedy.
(TheSnark oh, c'mon, like you didn't see me coming, Fri 20 Aug 2010, 15:48, 3 replies)

Not about life and death. You can skip this one.
Several years ago, I found myself waiting for the bus in my quiet little hometown. There was hardly anyone around, but I knew the kids from the nearby school would be coming soon (mostly as I was going to that school then too, but had got out early). So I secured my place exactly where the door of the arriving bus would come to be.

As the bus arrived, a considerable queue had built behind me, consisting of screaming kids carrying a lot of weight on their cloddy little torsos, and having very low barycentres. And suddenly, everybody made a push forward. Already used to this kind of shenanigans, the driver showed no sign of slowing down, to get it over with as quickly as possible.

I struggled hard to push the entire pack one step back, but wasn’t able to get my feet back up that kerb. That is, I did succeed, just a fraction of a second before that enormous wheel would have milled my foot to a slightly sticky tarmac topping.

The next day I told my friends about it, and they just thought I needed to be wearing shoes with steel caps in order to be safe…
( BringYourOwnParachute Meet me here on, Fri 20 Aug 2010, 15:17, 2 replies)

I was in London last month, so I arranged to meet a bunch of b3tans.
Thankfully, Gonzo didn't show up.
Phew.
( Dr Preference AjcuiVd289, Fri 20 Aug 2010, 15:06, Reply)

I live directly opposite a bus stop
into town. So that's nice, especially for school and work. Except there's a busy road in the way, and at 7.45 in the morning I'm not the only one trying to get into work.
One morning, I hop out of the front door, look left to see the traffic, and see a green bus tootling down the road.
At the time, it could have been the 78 (which stopped at that stop) or the X8 (which didn't). The X8 normally came past a bit earlier, now it was time for the 78.
There was a lad standing at the bus stop who I saw most mornings, and tended to get that bus, and I thought I saw him stick his arm out to stop it. Lovely timing! There wasn't any traffic coming the other way, so I moved along the road a bit to give it space to stop, and ran across to get on.
It wasn't the 78.
It wasn't stopping.
I was halfway across when I heard the screech of brakes and the blast of a horn, and saw a massive green square out of the corner of my eye. I'm not sure what happened next, but next thing I knew I was clinging to the cemetery railings across the road, wide-eyed and panting, gasping 'I THOUGHT IT WAS STOPPING!' repeatedly at the boy at the stop.
These days I walk the WHOLE 50 yards down the road to the crossing.
(and now for someone completely different, Fri 20 Aug 2010, 14:52, Reply)

I almost shit myself once
But I managed to get away with it right in the nick of time.

I wasn't as lucky on numerous other occasions though.
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Fri 20 Aug 2010, 14:51, Reply)

I once
ate a pure, red-hot habanero chili pepper on an almost empty stomach.

Cue immense cramps and rushing to the washroom to spatter the porcelain throne with copious amounts of, well, what felt like flaming bum spatter.

Luckily, my wife was well into her pregnancy and we'd recently stocked up on all the usual baby products, such as baby powder. The intense relief provided by such a simple product is a life saver!

Also, there's the time I was down at the local ranch when I noticed a very particular individual eyeing me up and down every time I got too close to his beloved animals. At first I though he was checking out my wife, but then I noticed he seemed to have an issue with both of us. It was by no means his ranch as we knew the owner but he seemed to be very agitated, almost possessive.

The whole situation was extremely unnerving as I could not tell if he was easily excitable or concealing a weapon in his trousers. I mentioned this to my wife and we decided it would be best to come back another day and we made our exit as hastily as possible.

I was surfing my local newspaper website shortly afterwards and noticed the police had released a sketch with a very detailed warning. Reading through it I went pale and got that cold sweat, empty stomach sensation you do when you think of a situation that could have gone much differently in a very horrific way. I haven't had to courage to bring it to my wife's attention even now, years later. They never found the man and the warning is still there.
(Turtlenuts, Fri 20 Aug 2010, 14:33, 15 replies)

Now here's a little story, I've got to tell.
I was the only one of my group of friends to not get into hip-hop (or 'rap' as it was called then).

Thus I was the only one to escape getting one of these:


(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Fri 20 Aug 2010, 14:28, 2 replies)

Teleportation
I was out with an (ex) friend of mine, in the dead of winter in Scotland. We go to a club, he's on at me to do some fucking drugs concoction (he was a bit of a hobbyist in that area). I'm just out to get laid, so I say no. He spikes my fucking drink and gives me a dose of whetever the fuck it is. I'm completely unaware.

The rest of the evening is just flashes of memory. I'm out of the club with no coat. It's snowing. I'm getting a kicking. Wallet and keys have vanished. I'm getting very cold. I live about 7 miles away from the club. I get pulled into a car by some blokes. I've no strength to resist. I'm driven out to a roundabout on the ring road. I get pushed out. I get a kicking and when I can see again my shoes have gone. I'm lying in the middle of this roundabout. Not visible from the road, snow mounting on top of me , and I'm thinking: This is it, I'm going to die right here in the middle of this fucking roundabout. I close my eyes...

...and when I open them again I'm lying on the lounge floor of my house. I live alone, the house was still completely locked up with no windows broken or anything. I have no keys. I have no shoes. I feel like shit, I'm covered in bruises, but I'm warming up. I'm OK.

What the fuck happened there? Maybe I teleported. Maybe I did die and jumped a track somehow. I'm not a mental, so I can't really believe that stuff. It was all very fucking weird.

Anyway, I went round to the druggy bloke's house a couple of days later and when he answered the door and said "Fuck, were you out of it the other night mate, I was worried that I'd OD'd you." I popped him right on the fucking nose. I think I broke it. I turned on my heel and walked away. Never heard from the cunt again.
(suckfake Frisky biscuits, Fri 20 Aug 2010, 14:28, 2 replies)

Not Bitter...
One of my old school 'mates' once waved a live spider at me as we were walking along home from school, glorying in his smug, arachnophobia-free life. Being acutely frightened of them, I helplessly spasmed away with a good metre-long leap... right out into the rush-hour road.

Cars swerved narrowly, I scrambled back to the pavement with a squeal, drivers shouted rude things and my 'mate' laughed. I felt like a pair of subwoofers had been clamped over each ear, connected directly to my heart - all I could hear was a panicked thump - thump - thump.

But the idiot machismo rules of my all boys school kept me silent - I had to laugh feebly along, pretending I dint care cos, like, I was well 'ard, me. Haha, you nearly got me run over, good one Matt.


Well, since this QotW has resurrected it and I'm no longer bound by dim rules for dim school-kids, I'd like to rectify things a little and say what I was unable to express at the time: Matt Caruso, you total stupid c-nut blob of an imbecile, you spider-waving pool of septic waste; you were a cold, dead waste of your father’s sperm and I ought to have pushed you into the road right afterwards. The grease from your fat, flattened corpse would have done everyone's axels good and frankly I don't know anyone who would have missed you, ‘mate’.
(IChewCandlewax, Fri 20 Aug 2010, 14:21, 1 reply)

Canoeing in France
On holidays in France with my family when I was about 10 years old, we went canoeing on the Ardeche River. There was a 10 minute briefing in french, presumably telling the natives about the many hazards, proper canoeing technique, how to turn yourself over if capsized etc.

Not speaking a word of the language myself and my mum got into our two man/person canoe/kayak (what the hell is the difference anyway?) with absolutely no clue on what to do.

Anyway, we set off paddling down a nice calm, deep river. After about 15 minutes of bouncing of the banks the river started to get shallower, and faster and the currents increasingly stronger. We lost sight of everyone else in the group, thanks for waiting dad!

It was whilst on one of these fasty bits my mum suddenly ducked as we drifted towards the bank, the reason for this was made known to me fractions of a second later as the tree branch my mum had nimbly ducked caught me under the neck.

The currents were so strong that I had no chance of freeing myself - I became pinned between the branch and the back of the holey bit you sit in, slowly choking to death. My life started to flash before me, but being only ten I hadn't boffed anyone by that point to make it remotely interesting (the viewing mostly consisted of lessons peppered with the occassional memory of Ms Matthew's humoungous wobblers jiggling infront of me everytime she bent over to help the kid opposite me with maths).

Unable to do anything but make a gurgling sound, my mum turned round and realised why the canoe had stopped. She doesn't strike you as someone that'd be so cool in a crisis, but she jumped straight out into the river up to her waist and pushed my end of the canoe down so I could slide my head forwards/sideways in an awkward motion to free myself. I can only think the adrenaline surge she must have had saved me from a grisly slow death.

We both then clocked the snapped pointy branch jutting out from the one I had caught myself under that had we drifted two inches further towards the bank would have gone right through my neck making the slow choking seem not a quite so bad way to die.

Mum then hopped back in and we hurtled off through the white water, trying to collect our lost oars on the way. We didn't really have any time to collect our thoughts, and I think that was probably a good thing. But if it wasn't for my mum I'd be brown bread.

Still, the rest of the afternoon turned out not so bad. The Ardeche courses through numerous nudist colonies who take exception to you paddling through their nudey paradise. To show their displeasure they dive in to the calmer waters as close to your canoe as possible and swim under it. This was met with me slapping them on their wrinkly gallic arses with my paddle as they surfaced. It's the simple things that make life worth living :D
( Draconacticus Reject shampoo. Demand real poo!, Fri 20 Aug 2010, 14:15, 2 replies)

Belfast, circa. 1987
A friend and I were walking out of Makin' Tracks record shop in the center of Belfast when suddenly there was an almighty bang, everyone in the street simultaneously ducked, then looked around, realised the IRA bomb had gone off in the next street and that we were all fine and safe in our street. Everyone carries on as normal.

Turns out the IRA had bombed an empty bus, for some reason. I was just pleased I had got the new Iron Maiden album from Makin' Tracks.
( splorp ®, Fri 20 Aug 2010, 14:10, Reply)

How I avoided a fight
A few months ago I was out drinking with a couple of mates and we found ourselves in the outside area of a large pub. It was quite a busy evening; there were no tables free so we were stood up by a small outside bar, chatting and smoking, keeping a look out for any tables that happened to be vacated. As I glanced towards the table opposite where we were stood, I saw two males sniff what was probably cocaine off of a card and up into their noses. I quickly looked away; it wasn’t any of my business, but I was surprised at how brazen they had been. I didn’t say anything to either of my mates, but looked over again and realised that both of the males were now approaching me.

As they neared, I remember thinking ‘He we go’. They were ‘proper lads’. You know the type; love boozing and chatting up the ‘birds’, three-styles-in-one haircuts, both dressed in attire usually associated with Jeremy Kyle guests and were walking like constipated apes. Proper-fucking-lads.

“What the fuck you looking at, mate?”

He was quite big, so I pretended I hadn’t seen him.

“Oi, mate. What the fuck were you looking at?”

I turned slowly round to face them.

“Me?” I started, pointing at myself. “Nothing”.

“You fucking what?”

“Nothing”

This went on for a couple of minutes; them asking me what I was looking at, and me responding with the same answer. My mates, ever helpful, stood and watched, sipping their drinks slowly. Eventually the two lads got bored with asking me the same question,

“Right, you little cunt, what’s your fucking name”

With that, the larger of the two grabbed me by my collar and tried to pull me towards him. I stood my ground and for some reason, my Granddad’s (RIP) only ever words of wisdom came into my head – ‘If you’re ever in trouble, act like you’ve got a mental illness’.
Before I could process this thought completely in my head, I felt my mouth open and I started speaking in a posh gentleman’s voice,

“They call me The Mongdaddy, boys. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Sputnik, Cauliflower, Wibble Jib-Jib!”

I extended my hand to the lad who wasn’t trying his best to remove my clothing.

“Mongdaddy? What the fuck are you on, mate”

“Why nothing fellow”, I carried on. Still I kept my posh voice. My mates now had their backs turned to us and were slowly sidestepping away from the scene.

”And it’s The Mongdaddy, parp, parp”.

With that, I pulled my hand down like you do when trying to get a haulage driver to sound his horn. I felt the grip on my collar loosen and the big lad stepped back away from me.

“Are you fucking nuts?”

“Oh God no, treacle pie. The Mongdaddy is perfectly normal. Hoopla-Hoopla, come and play the hoopla! Whistle. Flute. Hairy Biscuit”

I was now doing a small jig on the spot. Out of the corner of my eye I could see a few people watching me. I must have looked like an absolute nut-job.

“Hoopla?” The lads sounded as confused as I was.

“Five attempts for a pound, my dear. Get in the cockpit and roll out the kipper”.

“Fuck off, you freak”

And with that they walked away. I returned to my mates, necked my pint and left for somewhere different.
(Monkey the Chicken Twitter: death_stairs, Fri 20 Aug 2010, 13:53, 16 replies)

cycling home from work, dark, wet, cold..
coming across a mini roundabout, my right of way. two front lights, one rear plus three red flashing ones on my helmet, and bag. doing a fair lick.
quick look to the left, ok, the chelsea tank waitign to turn right has stopped, ok, sprint to cross! a puddle splashed up on my face, i instinctively turned my head to the left a little, and then grabbed a big handful of brake, ended up balancing on the front wheel, because some prick in a silver bmw (surrrrprriiiiiise!) 3 series came screaming round the corner on the inside of the big 4x4, literally drifting sideways, tyres smoking, cloud of white smoke pouring out of the exhaust.. he missed my front wheel by about six inches, and if i hadn't turned my face to avoid the splash from the puddle i wouldn't have seen him, and i would almost certainly be dead, or very very badly fucked up. shook me right up.
as i carried on riding about a half mile further on, the traffic had slowed to a crawl, and i was happy to see as i cycled smugly past on the pavement, this prick right in the middle of a bridge over the motorway, standing behind his BMW, now defunct and pouring white smoke like it was about to explode,quaking with fear while a huge irate red-faced lorry driver was screaming at him from about six inches forward and above his face, "GET YOUR FUCKING HEAP OF SHIT OUT OF THE FUCKING ROAD YOU FACKING CAAAAAAAHHHHNNTTTT!!!!!" and all the cars behind were beeping at him. what a dick. i was tempted to stop and give him more shit, but to be honest the lorry driver looked about another minute and a half from going on a full blown derrick bird style rampage, so i left him to it.
(UppityDamnPrimate LET'S OPEN THIS F*CKING PIT UP, Fri 20 Aug 2010, 13:52, 4 replies)

Well, a rambling post about climbing within...
I've detailed my close call with the long arm, now it's the proximity of the Reaper I shall regale you with.
{Wavy line things}
There will no doubt be other climbers who have had close shaves, I've had my share and some, but this was the pinnacle (heh) of my climbing accidents.
In France, there is a huge gorge called the Gorge du Verdon. It's about a kilometre deep in places and as such, a mecca for climbing.
After a day of driving, we set up camp and because we had plenty of time, got straight to the crags. Rather than starting out on one of the long climbs, we decided to warm up on one of the smaller ones. Now, Verdon is an awesome place from a scenic point of view, atop the sheer vertical face is a tier which is accessable with relative ease from the road. This was our destination and we set straight to getting up the lovely sun kissed rock.
I was eager to get one under the belt, so chose one of the longest of these shorter climbs as my warm up. It was beautiful. Fluid moves led me comfortably to the top where I had a view of the world any climber will tell you is part of the beauty of the sport. I looked back down at my pal belaying me (controlling the slack in the rope, and essential for lowering) and expressed my concern at the height of the climb and the length of the rope.
Rather than the 'second' (belayer) following up, I was to be lowered so he could have a go without having to worry about gear placements.
Easy. Being lowered after a nice climb can be almost as enjoyable as the climb itself as you have the time to enjoy the view.
Still some way up, my next recollection is of free fall. Vague thoughts form when the brain is stressed, mine was simple. "I'm about to die. Well, that was fun" was the basic tenet. No stress anymore, it seemed so simple now. I'd had a great time on this earth, and no concern now for proof either way of deities or faith.
Here's the escape bit...
You could say I was lucky. The clout who was belaying me (and had conveniently forgotten about the end of the rope as it had slid through his fingers) was the first thing I encountered on my descent. This was just enough contact to send me cartwheeling down the jagged (still steep) upper part of the gorge rather than just going splat. Again, the brain can deal with things in it's own way. Perhaps the only way I can put it into words is to say I had a 'Castanedan' moment. Brain took over, and released me from pain as well as any worries. Not one part of me was under my conscious control, but my hand brushed a bush and whatever part of me still in control decided to take charge. The next brush was gripped and slowed me enough to hold the final bush and stop. The view was truly magnificent. Just in front of my feet was the vertical kilometer drop.
I'd been opened up like a baked bean tin going through a lawnmower in various places and have some awesome scars as a result. But I evaded the bony grip of the hooded one and within a couple of weeks was forcing myself back up. The funniest thing was my friends. A week long holiday spoilt for some because after seeing my escape, they couldn't bring themselves to climb!

I don't know about the rest of you who've posted near misses/close calls, but my life perspective changed from that point on. I really can live for the moment now, and see the beauty in everything around me. I'm not afraid of the Reaper, and although I'll take all steps to avoid him, I'm going to poke him in the bony eye socket when he comes a' looking for me next time.

Length gag? Well, if only the rope were as long as this post...
( Blind Meach Cautiously optimistic, Fri 20 Aug 2010, 13:40, 5 replies)