Come to think of it, Hemel Hempstead's not too safe either
A mere 20 years after my near-drowning in Portugal, an older and wiser me was living in delightful Hemel Hempstead (famed for its 'magic' roundabout and, err, some other stuff probably).

Now I was living in a delightful flat above the parade of shops in a little place called Leverstock Green on the outskirts of town. A sleepy little hamlet, handy for my commute to work, and with rolling fields overlooking the industrial majesty of tank 912 of the Hertfordshire Oil Storage Terminal, more commonly known as the Buncefield depot. Of course, I didn't know this at the time, but I was living next to (well, across just a few hundred metres of open fields) what was about to become the biggest explosion in peacetime Europe's history.

As alarm clocks go, this was a doozy.

At 6.01am, my room was brilliantly illuminated by a flash. I woke to see the curtains above my head fan into the room, despite the windows being closed. Odd, thinks I. Even odder to see the windows themselves bow inwards a little.

The noise and the shockwave felt as if they arrived at the same time. The entire house felt as if it was at sea and seemed to roll up and back down again. I was pitched out of bed and heard the most deafening CRUMPPPP.

My first thought was that someone had lit the petrol tank of one of the cars parked outside. I scrambled up and looked out of the window. Nothing there in the car park... but it struck me as somewhat odd to see an enormous column of flame rising up on the horizon. 'Well,' I thought, still a little dazed with being woken in such a manner, 'not my problem,' and promptly went back to bed.

Unsurprisingly, I couldn't sleep and after a few minutes got dressed and went to investigate. There were hundreds of people milling about, some still in their pyjamas trying to figure out what was going on. By the time I'd got a bit closer to the flames and continuing explosions, the police had closed off access so all I could do was go back to my flat and watch the fireworks. It was an awesome sight, close up.

In the cold morning light, I realised that the front door had been blown out of true and was slightly diagonal in the frame. It was a bloody close escape to not have been showered in broken glass that morning.

Funniest bit was getting phone call from my housemate who'd been away for the weekend. He was so disappointed that he'd missed 'the only interesting thing to have ever happened in Hemel.'
( daikoku has been on a ragga tip since, Sat 21 Aug 2010, 19:18, 3 replies)

Footie
Whilst visiting Cardiff one time a few years back me and a pal decided to see Cardiff City play at home,the match itself was uneventfull being a 1-1 draw allthough the banter aimed at the English away support was a little fruity.
Post game we was standign by the steps Ninian Park station inspecting the train times back into town when i happened to look back down the road to see some 30 or so Soul Crew heading towards us-i grabbed my pal by the collar and dragged him away from the truculent bunch

Length ? nearly a very long brown streak put it that way
(shug, Sat 21 Aug 2010, 18:45, Reply)

There were several times in high school
where I was in danger of girl germs. Thank God for my repulsive personality and crippling fear of rejection.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Sat 21 Aug 2010, 18:38, 2 replies)

Portugal's not safe for kids
When I was just a little Daikoku, aged 5, our family went on holiday to Portugal. It was our first trip abroad and came within seconds of being my last.

We were staying in a big hotel complex of around 10 floors on the beachfront somewhere on the Algarve. The place had an indoor pool in the basement that led out onto a terrace overlooking the beach. I'd pestered my dad to take me and my brother down to play in the pool straight after breakfast, so he was getting our things together (towels, books etc) for him and Mum to read while me and my little brother splashed about.

We'd been to the pool a few times that holiday so when his back was turned to load the last of the stuff into the beach bag, I challenged my brother to a race. We flew out of the door, and started flying down the concrete stairwells towards the pool. The race was a simple challenge - get to the jacuzzi bit at the far end of the pool by the beach first. Now, being the bigger brother, I thought I could gain yet another slight advantage. Instead of running all the way round the pool, I'd leap as far in as I could over the deep end, then stagger the last few metres through the shallows to claim my place in the pantheon of victors until the next competition could be thought up.

By the time I'd reached the basement, my brother was left for dust. Victory was mine! I leaped, graceful as a salmon into the deep blue waters. I even remember cartwheeling my legs for those extra few inches of distance. I hit the water hard, and it knocked the air out of my lungs. I couldn't breathe, couldn't see a thing; I didn't even know which way was up, I was so confused and terrified. This was it, I thought. I think it was the first time in my life I'd felt proper panic.

Knowing my penchant for finding trouble at the drop of a hat, it was at this point I imagine that my father turned around in our apartment to the open door he'd just been addressing and realised that there might be a problem. Where was Daikoku? And exactly how quickly can you descend 10 flights of stairs just months after an operation to remove your cruciate ligament?

He found me splashing and flailing, just about still afloat, and pulled me to the side to catch my breath which I remember coming in big ragged lungfuls after enduring mouthfuls of chlorinated water. He said I'd actually slipped under as he jumped down the last few steps and saw the whole horrible scene in front of him.

Queue a massive bollocking about never going swimming alone again etc etc I don't remember seeing bright lights as consciousness slipped away, but I do remember getting an ice cream (as a reward for not dying presumably).

Length? Substantially further to the shallow end than I thought.
( daikoku has been on a ragga tip since, Sat 21 Aug 2010, 18:30, 1 reply)

Peapeapearoast! It's a record even for me!!!
The A5
Some years ago I was the proud owner of an Austin/MG Maestro turbo (fairly rare, I later found out) a truly mental car with far more power than the stone-age chassis and suspension could safely handle.

I was driving along the A5 on the straight bit just west of Cerigyddrudion at about 6 am on a fine, clear june morning when I decided to see just what the car was capable of. Silly, I know, but there was no traffic about, and this was before the advent of GATSO cameras (bastard bastard bastard things).

Pedal to the metal etc and I was flying! As I hit the 119mph mark I spied a couple of lorries in the distance coming the other way. "No prob", thought I, "the closing speed is fairly rapid but they're on the other side and I've got lots of time to slow down".

As I got within about 400 yards of them I eased off the throttle. All was well.


Then the front offside wheel blew into a million bits.

According to the marks on the road, I pirouetted three times, swerved BETWEEN the lorries and back to my side of the road before coasting to a stop, facing the wrong way and shaking like a freshly raped whippet. I don't remember the accident itself, just the aftermath of incoherent babbling and crying to the two rural coppers that turned up. I was mentally going through the rest of the route through the mountains in my mind and picturing all the places I could have plunged to my death. The shock took me weeks to get over and I was very close to jacking in my job.

It seemed that there was a casting fault that had caused the wheel to crack between the bolt-holes on the wheel, under the paint, which meant that it could have come off (leaving the centre of the wheel still attached) at any time.

On examination by the dealer, three of the wheels had the same fault, albeit to a lesser degree. I'd done over 12,000 miles in this car, transporting my then wife (pregnant with our first child), my parents, her parents and loads of mates on various jaunts.

Never drove it again.
(Captain Placid 24/7 ball gags, brownie mix and clown porn, Sat 21 Aug 2010, 17:28, 2 replies)

thinking back over this, there's been a few...
At Uni...
Knocked down by a car twice. (both hit and runs)
Mugged 3 times, last time ending up in a bad way in hospital for a while due to knife wounds.
Caught in the middle of a small riot while trying to drive through a street.
Also narrowly missed one of the first morning trains into Manchester city centre (from Bolton) on 15th June 1996, and by the time the next one had come around, the IRA had decided to bomb the shit out of the city centre. I decided not to get the next train, but ended up staying in Bolton looking after a few people who had traveled back after the event covered in cuts and bruises.
Have also injured myself a few times, or come very close to seriously injuring myself due to cluster headache attacks. I've had a couple of attacks come on instantly while driving at reasonable speed, which wasn't fun.
I'm still here, just about.
( The Great Architect is still waiting for his account to be deleted on, Sat 21 Aug 2010, 16:24, 2 replies)

Sweetcorn
Subway guy: What Salad do you want
Me: that (points at gherkins)
Subway guy: Sweetcorn? (points at sweetcorn)
Me: No, gherkins.
Subway guy: Oh, ok.

This happened two years ago. Sometimes when I'm playing with Duplo bricks (I'm a little bit two high on the 'mong-scale' to be allowed Lego) or having a Breville toasted sandwich I'll get all misty-eyed and pensive about how close I was to nearly getting a sandwich with sweetcorn in it....

I actually dont really mind sweetcorn.
(Andrew Avetoom, Sat 21 Aug 2010, 16:17, 2 replies)

Nearly Shafted Down A Gold Mine
As a young fresh faced lad just out of school with a thirst for a bit of adventure and a year off before going to university, my old man packed me off to Zimbabwe to work on a few Gold Mines & Cattle Ranches (yeah none of that trustifarian interailing bollocks for me). Anyway I was enlisted into the Underground Surveying & Safety team, which involves running around with a clipboard, theodolite, measuring tape, crowbar and hard hat!

Going down a working mine is hard & dangerous work, digging out the gold ore is done with lots of jack hammers, explosives, high pressure water (that will cut your arm off if it bursts) and did I say litterally millions of tonnes of rock ready to fall on your head at no warning. This particular one was very proud of its 365 day record of zero fatalities Its 100% humidity and +30C and at a mile or so underground you'll find the toughest guys who work hard, but do it with the best and blackest of humour.

As part of the safety team our first job after a blasting, was to make sure that the working areas where clear of loose and hanging rock. Normally clearing up after a blast was a simple business of checking that the blast was successful and tapping the odd loose bit of rock off the walls and roof, But this particular cavern we where working was pretty big, imagine a space about the size of a DIY Warehouse store on tilted on its end to around 70degrees, because it had a particularly dangerous slope you got a lot of rock hanging over head and if it was loose there was nothing to stop it falling a few hundred feet and squashing anything that came in its path.

Anyway on this day a bit of hanging rock about the size of a bus stuck to the roof and probably weighing in at 50 tonnes, which needed to be cleared, but we weren't going to be able to do it with a crowbar, no what we needed was dynamite!

Kids! Safety warning these are not fireworks, this is some serious shit high explosive, when dad says stand back he means stand back. Anyway I digress, back to the hanging rock story.

The best way to get the rock down is to pop a couple of sticks of dyna-gell under it and the detonation will act as a bit of a clap to loosen the rock off and hopefully gravity will take its course. So off I go with a couple of sticks in my pocket and a trail of blasting cord, I position the sticks in a appropriate position insert the detonation cord and retreat back to the safe position, following all the whistles and making sure everyone is clear we lit the fuse and waited.

Bang! And then nothing.... bugger that didn't shift it, we wait a few minutes to let the dust clear and let the fumes subside and go and check on our handywork, and the bitching rock is still stuck firmly to the roof. Albeit with a nice crack in it now, so we insert a few more sticks of dyna-gel and another for good measure and repeat the process.

Bigger Bang!!! And then nothing... pissflaps this is a stubborn bitch of a rock, we return to the scene and our efforts have not even dented it so this time its all the dyna-gel and blasting cord we can get our hands on positioned in every nook and cranny, this rock is toast! We get ready to set the fuses and retreat to the safety area when, there is a sudden rumble......

Yup you know the score I'd been laying explosives under 50 tonnes of rock for 15 minutes and it falls down by itself, in true close shave moments I scrambled away just in time to see the whole shitting bastard lot wallop down the cavern & smash a few hundred feet bellow.

Anyway the next day we changed the safety sign to 366 days of accident free days.
( rwbthatisme is on holiday this week, Sat 21 Aug 2010, 16:11, 1 reply)

Peeing in public always saves you
My new job working in the desert and my boss was a few roos short of the top paddock. She asked me to take some people back home to a community, telling me it was only two hours away. No worries, 10am, will be back in time for the manager's going away party.

Two hours turns into 4hrs each way, because my boss had no clue. Unfamiliar dirt roads and only one roadhouse and one farmhouse in between the drive. On the way home I rolled the Troop Carrier. On a dirt road. In the middle of nowhere.

I had no satellite phone, because my boss was a wanker, no matches (soon took up smoking again just to have a lighter around) and no idea what to do. It was the middle of winter and the desert drops down to minus at night, so I was more worried about the cold, having escaped any injury after flipping the Troopie.

I was saved! After half an hour of sitting there I walked out to the centre of the dirt road, tugged the strides down and did the longest pee I was capable of. As I crabbed crawled around the road to stop the pee flooding around my boots (as a woman, even in life threatening moments one does worry about the smallest details), in the distance I saw a dust cloud coming at me. Yes, the moment I peed in public a car came along. One of those typical movie moments where I had to sit in the back of a ute with animals, food and god knows what, but I was saved!

If you are the top of a mountain, on a desert road or in space, pee in public and someone will always come along.
(boozehound is drinking your bar dry, Sat 21 Aug 2010, 10:14, 2 replies)

Oh God, another one...
Where we used to live, our garden backed on to the worlds smallest public railway, from end to end it's 14 miles long.
Anyway, when our first daughter was born we *trained* her to wave at the train, rather than be scared of the noise when it went past.
When she was about 2 years old we decided that it might be a good idea to take her in it to show her what it was all about, we chose a day when they dressed the train up like Thomas the Tank Engine and drove the mile down to the station.
When we got there, there was a man chalking up on a board the words "Due to accident, trains will not be running today". I asked him what had happened.
A woman in a car had decided to jump the lights, and of course the inevitable happened and the train hit her car, killing the train driver and injuring her and her child.
We drove home, to discover that the accident was about 20 yards from our house and had left the station pretty much at the same time we left our house (it travels at around 25mph max) to go to the station to get on the train.
So, while we probably wouldn't have died, we did have a narrow escape.
(dchurch bah, Sat 21 Aug 2010, 9:41, 4 replies)

I suppose I should have stopped.
Post A levels went with 2 friends youth hostelling from our homes in Somerset to Aviemore, Scotland. They met 2 German girls on holiday with their parents and our holiday plans changed to match theirs.
On the last night before we return home the Germans are in a holiday cottage in Oban and the nearest hostel we could find was Crianlarich. After an evening watching tv in Oban(me)and my friends doing things in the bedrooms we had to dash back before the hostel door was locked at 11pm. I had cut it a bit fine and it being June it was dusk. My car at the time was the original Fiat Panda and one of that car's shortfalls was an ability to corner at speed.
Belting along as fast as I could I see some red lights in the distance. They seem to be stationary but about 4' apart vertically. Odd methinks and slows down. When we reach the lights we discover a Land Rover on it's side in a ditch where it had gone straight on while the road turned to the right at a degree that the Panda would not have made at the speed I had been doing.
My friends had a narrow escape too. The girl's father was very traditional and when their parents came home from their night out their mother made such a noise coming up the path they had plenty of time to make themselves decent if needs be.
(jvz, Sat 21 Aug 2010, 9:07, Reply)

European Custom Bike Show
A few years ago, this event was held in our village - God only knows why, presumably because there's a lot of noise, and we're quite a way from anywhere 'civilised'.
Anyway, every year (for the five years it was held here) we'd all stroll up to the field and blag entry for free ("Ahhh, come on, we're locals; we'd be kept awake by the noise all night otherwise...etc...etc...).
One year, and the last it was ever there, for some reason the bloke on the door made us pay a fiver each instead of the twenty that it should have cost (shows you just how long ago this was, it'd be about 60 now I guess), anyway, I digress.
Once we'd paid, as you do, we made a bee-line straight for the beer tent.
Waiting in line, I realised that I recognised a couple of the girls behind the counter - a lot of jobs on the field were given to locals - I smiled and waved hello. One of the girls didn't look happy, she was getting quite a lot of grief from a huge, Dutch Hell's Angel. Being that we'd walked up from the pub, we'd had a few jars before we left and as such I was feeling brave and decided to 'help out'. I asked what was wrong:

"This chap is not understanding what I'm saying" the girl said, "I'm telling him that his drinks are 7 quid and he doesn't understand."
I thought, "no problem." I tapped the bloke on the shoulder and said "Seeevvveeeeennnn" while holding up- 7 fingers.
Next thing I know I'm being lifted off my feet by the bloke by one hand around my throat while simultaneously being kneed *around* the groin area (thankfully his aim was shit). Then I felt an arm around my waist and the feeling of being forcefully dragged backwards.
The couple in line behind me had seen what had happened and the woman in the couple was dragging me away from the psycho Dutchman.
Once away, I was still adamant that all he needed was to be told that his drinks came to 7 quid and that I'm sure he'd realise it was all just a misunderstanding.
The woman, who had just saved me, said "You go back there, and he WILL kill you."
Turns out at the end of the weekend there were only two arrests.
Yep, one of the arrests was the Dutchman. Apparently later that night (according to the local paper) he'd stabbed someone through the lung who subsequently died a few days later, probably over the price of a beer.
So, thank you anonymous woman in the crowd who was clearly a better judge of character than me, you quite possibly saved my life, and RIP to the poor sod who didn't have anyone to drag him away in time.

I'm a little more wary of bike shows since that, especially since one of the mates I was with that time went a couple of years later to the Bulldog Bash, and accidentally wandered pissed into the HA enclosure.
He spent 8 weeks in hospital (until he discharged himself, then collapsed) with balloons up his nose enabling him to breath.
(dchurch bah, Sat 21 Aug 2010, 8:24, 4 replies)

Generational miss
It's remarkable to think about all the random events that must align before anyone is conceived. If one great-great-great-grandparent hadn't met the other great-great-great-grandparent in some random potato field in some Godforsaken little town, etc.

However, it's perhaps rare to be able to point to one event in history and say, "My family missed annihilation by minutes."

Ever heard of the Eastland Disaster? en.wikipedia.org/wiki/SS_Eastland

Probably not. Most people haven't.

The Eastland Disaster was no joke. On July 24th, 1915, 844 people died in a matter of minutes as a ship meant to be a pleasure cruise rolled into the water while tied at dock. The worst part is that the 844 people that perished were mostly poor, working-class families. It was meant to be a company outing, you see.

My great-grandparents and their children (my grandmother, and great uncles and aunts) were one of these poor, working class families. I can imagine their excitement at being able to take such a remarkable trip--quite rare for a large family. I can imagine the joy of the children, dressed in their finest Sunday-best clothing. And I can imagine the frustration of my great-grandparents upon realizing that their youngest, my great-uncle, needed a diaper change just as they were about to head out the door. Apparently, my great-grandfather was VERY put out at the unavoidable delay. Don't you know that if we don't hurry, we'll miss the boat?

They did miss the boat. By mere minutes. My family arrived just in time to see the boat turn over. My grandmother refused to speak of that day. I cannot imagine she saw, a young child's delight turned to uncomprehending terror.

The Wikipedia entry does not do justice to the sheer scope of this disaster. Children were orphaned in an instant. Entire families perished in the disaster, wiped out in moments. It was only sheer chance that my family was not among the unlucky. I can thank my entire existence to something as mundane as a child's wet nappy.
(herbivorous, Sat 21 Aug 2010, 7:26, 3 replies)

Industrial roofing.
When I was younger, I used to work as an industrial roofer. It involved carrying sheets of metal about on roofs in all types of weather. Every roofer I've met had their tales of 'the day they had a lucky escape'. Mine wasn't as lucky as I'd hoped.

One day, it started raining, so we decided to pack up for the day. Carrying the last sheet back to the pile, the guy at the top carrying most of the weight overbalanced and sent me flying backwards towards the safety scaffolding. I hit the barriers at such speed my body pushed itself though the tiniest of gaps.... there's a few missing seconds here... then I woke up on the floor in agony.

The Health and Safety report afterwards said that I'd hit a scaffold pole one floor down slowing myself down with my face, then landed on my back on the second floor, before landing on the side of a pile of rubble on the ground.

The lucky escape wasn't the fact that I didn't fall, more the fact I got away with such light injuries (broken cheek and tail bone) from falling almost 40 foot.
(Unit, Sat 21 Aug 2010, 4:59, Reply)

The closest I came to death...

...I was ten years old and was being pulled on roller blades on the back of a bmx. He turned into a minor road on the right hand side, straight into the path of an oncoming car. The Bike rode out the way, leaving me hurtling towards it, unable to get out of the way. I managed to fall behind the front wheel of the car and with my head underneath it, the back wheel braking until it touched my nose. I shat myself.
( Turquoise Hexagon Sun has just dropped acid on, Sat 21 Aug 2010, 1:46, Reply)

Pearoast
I hit black ice on a duel carriageway causing a spin that sent me onto the wrong side of the road.

Luckily it was 5am so there was not much traffic on the other side, the accident caused my front wheel to be damaged so I couldn't move the car, first thing I did was to phone the police to close the road to stop a big accident.

Next was to phone a recovery truck to get the car out the way, I was standing on the side of the road next to the car on the phone to the recovery people when the truck hit, 2ft in the other direction and it would have hit me.

The one thing about the accident that will live with me forever is the look on the face of the fireman that ran towards me, It was a mixture of pure shock and amazement mixed with confusion.
I could see that he was thinking, how the fuck is this guy still alive and standing next to the wreck of a car when just about 50 meters away there is a flipped truck on the road.

It took them 5 hours to reopen the road

The Aftermath.


Article

tinyurl.com/2uaqx9j
( Terry Oblong There's nobody here but us chickens on, Sat 21 Aug 2010, 1:12, 2 replies)

So many people on here so close to disaster
there must have been many like minded types who didn't live to tell the tale.

Fuck 'em.
( stopmeandslapme Cometh the hour, cometh your mum, Sat 21 Aug 2010, 0:03, 2 replies)

A flat in San Francisco that I rented for 7 years burnt to the ground
less than a year after my wife, me, and our kid moved out.
( I smash things in my sleep uruk-hai ...and I'll look low. Now where'd they go?, Fri 20 Aug 2010, 23:54, 1 reply)

I just missed being mauled
I was at the deli counter getting some roast beast and pepperjack cheese when they announced a half price special on the ham.
The fat bitch nearly knocked me into a 360 spin, good thing I'm agile.
(CactusZack Shaved his coin purse on, Fri 20 Aug 2010, 23:50, 2 replies)

As seen on /links
www.youtube.com/watch?v=0ABGIJwiGBc&feature=search
(Frample Tromwibbler climbs an obstacle like old people fuck, Fri 20 Aug 2010, 22:53, Reply)

quite a few, so i'll keep them brief
7 years old, run over on the way to the summer playscheme. recovered quickly, but was pissed off about dropping my lollipops.

8 years old, hooked unconscious out of the deep end of the pool in rhyl sun centre. didn't stop me getting back in again, but i did avoid the big pool.

15 years old, accidental overdose of diet pills, which i'm sure the doctor shouldn't have given to someone that age. speeding my tits off for 3 days, binned the rest of them.

16 years old, pissed, walked over a bridge spanning a dual carriageway on the wrong side of the railings, just to annoy my mate. literally 2 inches of concrete between me and certain splat. i slipped, but managed to right myself. i'm a stupid cunt when i'm drunk.

19 years old, near-fatal alcohol poisoning from drinking whisky that i didn't know at the time was homebrew. stomach pump, mother of all hangovers and vivid hallucinations is what i got for being a twat. avoided alcohol for 2 years and haven't touched whisky since.

20 years old, along with 2 friends, saved from carbon monoxide poisoning by a routine gas check. not one of us had realised that the reason for us feeling ill for a week was that there was a gas leak.

21 years old, had a weird feeling about going to hospital for an operation. refused to go. found out that a broken pipe had lead to the ceiling panel above the bed i would have been in being soaked to the point where it collapsed onto the bed. fortunately, nobody was in it as i cancelled last minute.

30 years old, car crash. i'd have been fine if i'd been wearing a seatbelt. unfortunately, i was so fat at that point* that the belt wouldn't fit me. lost quite a bit of blood and still have a harry potter-esque scar on my forehead.

34 years old, thought i was having an attack of IBS. for some reason, i decided not to try and sleep it off, but to phone an ambulance. was immediately admitted and prepped for emergency surgery, as my colon was severely herniated and about to burst.

it's a good job i'm fucking stubborn, isn't it?

*this was just the kick up the arse i needed to finally lose weight.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Fri 20 Aug 2010, 22:52, 2 replies)

Disaster at the Worlds Strongest Man competition
I was lucky enough to be able to watch the finals of the Worlds Strongest Man in 1986, it was a thrilling finish, some Icelandic bloke, and our very own Geoff Capes fighting for the title.

"Look at what their lifting Rowan" my dad would comment, condeming my weakness (as well as never being a strong lad, I also had my first name - mum's choice) while praising their strength in one single sentence. Luckily I was 9 at the time, and, as well as my dad, my half french / half cockney (think 2nd world war fraternisation) mate Peter was there to enjoy / share the shame with me.

In the final round (the giant log lift) Geoff is struggling to lift the mighty timber. All of us were shouting, trying to egg him on to lift it to take the lead, when his strength fails, and the log lands on him, and rolls into the crowd, causing chaos.

Pulled to safety by a friendly watcher, I look round for my dad amongst the scattered crowd - no sign of him. Hearing a shout I look forward and see Pete crouched by a man, crushed by the log. "Pete" I shout, "is that my dad?".

He replies "Nah Row, est Capes".
(LargeDoner, Fri 20 Aug 2010, 22:48, Reply)

A rail disaster took place less than 100 yards from my flat.
The last few cars of a fully loaded goods train became uncoupled, derailed and fell off the bridge right onto the high street. Although it caused complete chaos and the buildings underneath were utterly destroyed above the ground floor, by some miracle no-one was hurt.

I escaped all harm merely by existing ninety years in the future.
( The Mock TurtIe ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Fri 20 Aug 2010, 22:44, Reply)

Edited pearoast: Because the original was badly written.
(All of this story is genuinely true. I am not exaggerating how close I was to the... well, you'll see).





Two winters ago, I was on a uni skiing trip. We'd all got up very early and driven up from Edinburgh to Glenshee (big Scottish ski resort). Being (then) not very competant, I soon lost the rest of the group on a slope that, frankly, was too difficult for me. I decided to try and ski the rest of the way off piste, as the skiing conditions were negligibly different and I thought I could see an easy way down.

Did I mention it was snowing heavily, and I wasn't wearing my goggles?

Did I also mention the line of pretty stripy poles I was heading for, which I believed marked another way down?

Did I mention that these poles ACTUALLY mean "Danger: Keep Away"?

Anyway, I was happily pottering along, my thought processes running somewhere along the lines of "Hmm hmm hmm hmm hmm hmOHSHITWHATTHECUNTINGFUCKAAAAAAAAAAARRRRGH".

I had, in the whiteout, entirely overlooked the start of a gully and plunged over the edge. It wasn't shallow either - about 50-60 degrees. Far steeper than it looked from a distance. I built up far too much speed far too quickly, and panicked. I threw myself to the side just as I smashed into a snowbank. My left ski released as it was supposed to. My right ski didn't. And when that happens, all the twisting forces go through the weakest link. In this case, my right knee.

In short, I was now lying in the bottom of a mostly invisible gully a long way from the main ski run, with no way of calling for help (no phone signal) and a fucked up knee. For the first 5 minutes of lying there, I thought I might be in for the long hall in terms of waiting for help. Fortunately after about 10 minutes I found that it would just about support my weight, albeit at the cost of a fair bit of pain. However, I wasn't safe yet. I still had to get off the damn mountain.

The more observant of you may be wondering why there was a gully on this mountainside in the first place. The more clever of you may have realised that this would be because it contained a stream at the bottom. I had plunged into the very top of the gully, about 10ft above where the stream came out from under the snow. Had I gone in 10ft further on, due to the fast and rocky nature of the stream, there's little doubt in my mind that I would now be dead.

I couldn't go back up the mountain because I couldn't bend my knee properly. I had to go forward or nowhere. I ended up shuffling along the side of a 60 degree gully in nearly waist deep snow, my heart in my mouth every time a ski shifted or slipped downhill. Because if I fell, I was going to go headfirst into the stream. And die. Fortunately, I have a useful reflex in these situations - I don't panic or cry or go into shock. I deal with it calmly and rationally, ignoring any pain or difficulty for as long as is necessary to get to safety. Then when it's over, I collapse in a heap and lie there for a long time, completely unable to do anything except think about what could have happened.

I did eventually get off the mountain and somehow over the others between the minibus and where I was, shaking like a leaf with pain and delayed shock, and balancing as much as possible on one ski all the way. I stayed there until the others got back, and we headed home. Stopping off for food on the way back, I got out of the minibus and fell over, unable to walk.

It took about a month for me to stop limping and until January this year to feel any desire to ski off piste again. The story has a kind of happy ending as I went back this year and skiied the original run in the same conditions without any problems, but I still think about what could have been...
( MatJ LOOK, Fri 20 Aug 2010, 21:06, Reply)

Motorcycle Wet Weather Tram Death (nearly...)
My beautiful home town is blessed with a wonderful thing running through the streets and in some places not through the streets: trams. These large majestic beasts carry happy commuters to their destinations along shiny tracks sunken into the tarmac. In no way did I ever envisage that these tracks could present a problem if say it was raining and I was riding my motorbike across the tracks and I had to brake suddenly…

Well that did happen and a tram happened to be right behind me. I was flipped off the bike back towards the approaching tram which slammed on the anchors. It came to a juddering stop roughly 16 inches away from severing my head and shoulders (of my body – not my shampoo). Strangely as the bike flipped me off the first thought through my mind was “Shit, I’m going to be late for work!” rather than “Arrgh! I’m going to die!!”
The tram driver burst out of the cab a face full of wide-eyed terror. He was yelling “SHIT MAN! ARE YOU OKAY?! WHAT THE FUCK!?! DO YOU NEED AN AMBULANCE?!” But what I really needed was some clean underpants. Him too, probably.

After dusting myself off and managing to get the bike back up on the wheels I found that the handlebars were a bit bent and one mirror had smashed but she started up again and I wasn’t even late for work! I did find however that the quality of my work was somewhat lacking for the rest of the day and I made a lot of mistakes(shock) and there was some fluid leaking from a hole in my arm (blood).

Funnily enough I managed to crash it again the very next day when the brake cable that had been damaged in the tram crash snapped…

I’m still alive though.
(Phelpsy Bollocks trapped behind radiator since, Fri 20 Aug 2010, 21:03, Reply)

Derrick Bird
stopped to take a photo of some wind turbines, missed getting caught up in his wake by seconds.

still don't know what to make of it. RIP to those less fortunate.
(DissolvedMynci, Fri 20 Aug 2010, 20:43, Reply)

King's Cross Tube Fire
I was on the first Circle Line train which didn't stop - we were sent straight through the smoke filled platforms. The one before me did stop, passengers got out, and some died in the fire.

Oh, did I mention that I was due to change onto the Northern Line there?
(ubergeekian, Fri 20 Aug 2010, 19:49, 1 reply)

I Nearly got Raped
by a load of Aliens once :(
(Daw the Cunt Deffiency in keeping Wind since 1970, Fri 20 Aug 2010, 19:34, 3 replies)