The people of Wimbledon
In which mrgibbles thanks the entire population of Wimbledon for restoring his faith in humanity.

On the hottest day of the year last summer I decided to leave the relative safety (yeah, right) of Hackney and cycle as far south across London on my own as I could manage. It was a spur of the moment Forrest Gump inspired decision to keep on cycling (I'd only popped out for five minutes to take a video back).

This was rather silly as I'm prone to passing out randomly when my blood sugar levels reach a certain critical low point (as yet undiagnosed, but it normally manifests itself in losing about 6 hours of my life, and coming to covered in blood, and stumbling around randomly like a zombie)

It took about 5 hours to get there as I kept getting lost, but my last memory is of getting to Wimbledon and entering a shop to ask directions. My next recollection is hazily coming to with a massive gash on my head, my t-shirt covered in blood, extreme concussion and my wallet, phone, bag, house-keys and bike missing. I'd also lost one shoe.

What's weird about my blackouts is that I don't wake up on the floor - I'm always, always on my feet, and always stumbling about somewhere in confusion - which was the case again this time. I found myself in a completely unknown location, walking down towards a railway bridge and from my watch, I could see I'd lost 4 hours (perhaps you can imagine how freeky, scary, and disorientating this is).

In short though: To the nice old man who took me to the Police station (and later to A&E), the Policewoman who gave me a tenner to get home, and the Wombles of Wimbledon Common who rather than taking my bike, wallet etc, left them all in a nice pile outside the shop for me to find the next day, cheers!
( rofl harris, Fri 3 Oct 2008, 15:48, 4 replies)

Lucky!
That's quite scary mrgibbles. Lucky it was Wimbledon and not, say, Brixton.
Reminds me of a story. I once worked night shift in a petrol station. You get some right nutters, druggies, shoplifters etc. but you did get a bit used to it. Fairly early one evening a wide-eyed, shaking wreck came through the doors. He was relatively young and well presented, but obviously wasn't in a good way. He stood there in front of the chocolate bars swaying and muttering to himself. Then he proceded to pile into the chocolate, feverishly unwrapping bars and shoving them into his face and just smearing chocolate everywhere.
"Um, are you going to pay for those?" I asked, not quite sure what to do.
He growled at me.
Right, better call the cops then, I thought.
He continued his rampage through the sweeties, oblivious as I spoke to the rozzers. Then I caught the words "blood sugar" in among his muttering, and thought "OK, better call an ambulance then too", the penny dropping as he collapsed on the floor.
Poor chap. Turns out the ambulance crew knew him from previous encounters and got him sorted. He came back the next day to say thanks and pay for the food but I wouldn't take his money. I was quite happy for BP to wear the cost of a few chocolate bars.
(cheez is feeling ergophobic, Fri 3 Oct 2008, 16:07, closed)

bloody hell
I can emphasize with him. I've had more bangs to the head than is healthy from this.

I now carry an emergency chocolate bar and a can of coke on me at all times - sorts me out.

edit: weirdly, I've been poked, proded, and had my brain scanned numerous times. There is, apparently, nothing wrong with me that they can diagnose. My blood sugar is always normal by the time I get to a hospital.
( rofl harris, Fri 3 Oct 2008, 16:15, closed)

One of my friends
has experienced something like this.

He's schizophrenic (although I do not know if this is related), and the one time this happened is when faced with something traumatic (when we were younger, he kept african land snails, and when I stood on a snail - it set him off).

In short, he turned into a near enough zombie, and was pretty much a walking veggie. He tried to kill me with an iron pole, although he didn't try running - only walking - and called me back in a strange, high pitched voice.

He doesn't remember any of this, only that he had totally blacked out for 4 or 5 hours.

We still laugh about the pole thing.
(Tyraen, Fri 3 Oct 2008, 21:04, closed)

eek
No, I don't think I'm schizophrenic

/ moves all sharp things away from desk. Stops listening to the voices.
( rofl harris, Mon 6 Oct 2008, 10:19, closed)