Penny
Many years ago, when I was about the age of ten my twin brother saw fit to enlightened me on the subject of just how much pain you can endure without passing out. Not deliberately of course, it was just one of those not-so-happy coincidences.

Anyway, it was a cold winter's night and the family had gathered in the living room, my father in his arm chair, my mother lounging on the settee and my brother and I were sitting in front of the open fire, luxuriating in the heat radiated from the burning coals. I was reading a book and thoroughly engrossed in it or I might have paid more attention to my brother's little experiment. He had gathered a pile of coins and was tentatively placing piles of them on the fire grill. He claims he was curious about the rate at which heat was transferred to the coins and was placing a number of one and two pence pieces on the iron grill to see how long it took before he could no longer pick them up. Well, it seems his fingers had become quite accustomed to the high temperatures because at some point he decided it would be hilarious to take one of the "warmer" coins and drop it down the back of my shirt.

The one pence peice he selected was hot, very hot, indeed, to this day I have no idea how he managed to lift it. The coin slipped down the back of my t-shirt causing me no real problems, but unfortunately, the human spine curves somewhat otherwise the penny would have just passed me by and hit the ground and I would be posting something else here. But instead the top of my buttucks neatly caught the coin which promptly began to burn my skin. But not just burn my skin, this coin was very hot indeed, because it burnt right through the skin into the actual flesh.

My nervous system started to light up like a christmas tree when the penny started to burn me, I jumped in the air, unsurprisingly, but because of the heat of the coin, it actually stuck to me, I think it was my father who actually had to pull the coin out. Needless to say I was in agony. My brother had essentially re-enacted a small part of the Spanish Inquisition in our living room. It's hard to describe the pain, but it I imagine it being similar to having an ice pick coated in acid shoved straight into your lower back. My spine seemed to become an entity of its own as I struggled to shake the coin melting into my flesh and all the while my parents where trying to hold me still to help me. Obviously, my parents took me to hospital and my brother was chastised but to this day I have a white patch, which is now the size of two pound coin, just on the the top of left buttock. And of course I relentlessly remind my sibling of how he scarred me for life and that he didn't even have the decency to burn his fiingers.
(Blackivar is falling with style, Mon 2 Aug 2010, 15:58, Reply)

Brighton, 1987
It was the first day of the spring term at what was then Brighton Polytechnic. It was my first year, so I was still keen, and I had spent the first couple of hours after lectures at the library on the Moulsecombe site.

I was feeling peckish, so headed over to the refectory at Mithras House, then from there I'd make the 3-4mile walk back to my halls of residence on the seafront. (Yes, Brighton fans, I was in Seafront Halls the night it fell down, but that's another story.)

That was the plan, anyway. I remember leaving the library. The next thing I remember was waking up groggy and in pain in a screened-off part of the A&E of the Brighton General. My roommates from halls, and one or two other pals, were there, while a junior doctor put stitches in my head. Apparently, I'd been run over.

My right thigh was in serious pain, but apparently it wasn't broken, though it certainly felt like it'd been hit by a car and later I had a bruise that went through all the colour of the rainbow from my beltine right down to the top of my calf. It still aches sometimes - usually when I think about the accident (so it's hurting now; I hope you b3tans all appreciate the sacrifice).

I had seventeen stitches in my head, just in my hairline, where my noggin had hit... I don't know what, and I was kept in overnight for observation because I'd been concussed. I found various sore spots and scrapes on myself in the next day or two.

That winter was very cold and snowy in Brighton, and the council didn't grit the pavements, so the usual treacherous paths that cause able-bodied to slip and slide and fall over were even more of a hazard to me, who could only limp for about three weeks afterwards. I fell over so often that my arse soon matched my thigh for colourful bruising.

After a couple of months I was mostly recovered, and I went into the police station; because I'd been knocked out, I'd lost most of my short term memory. I'd assumed I was hit at the bottom of Coombe Road, where I headed uphill to go up past the racecourse. But the constabule on duty told me I'd been hit on the Lewes Road by a "Hungarian professor from Sussex University". That's all they'd tell me, he said, because anything more might "prejudice the case".

What the case was, whose fault the accident was, whether the driver or any passengers were hurt, and all the other stuff I might have like to know - never mind today's obsession with compensation - have remained a mystery to this day. A couple of times since I've phoned Sussex Police or talked to lawyer friends out of curiosity, but the records are all buried in basements, it would cost money to dig them out, the window for compensation is long past, etc.

So I still don't know what happened.

Do any b3tans?

Not much of an injury, by this QOTW's standards, but it's the only hospital visit that I can remember. I was scalded as a toddler when I came into the kitchen from the garden carrying a really good stick I'd found, and managing to hook a boiling saucepan so that it emptied it's contents onto my lap and I spent about a month in a specialist burns unit. They did a good job, too because (apart from a small scar in an intimate place i.e. on my cockshaft) there's not a mark on me from that. But all I can remember of it is that they had murals with Magic Roundabout characters in them, and Dana's All Kinds Of Everything played almost constantly on hospital radio. I was 3, I think.
( shinyshinyscalp less a man, more a way of life, Mon 2 Aug 2010, 15:37, Reply)

Me knee
when i split my knee open and then a couple of weeks later wile it was still healing i split it open again and did the same a couple o days later, was not good....
(mr miagi, Mon 2 Aug 2010, 15:03, Reply)

Staples
Once, as a bored teenager, I wondered how much it would hurt if I stapled my finger.

Turns out, it hurts quite alot.
(EvilMeister, Mon 2 Aug 2010, 14:17, 2 replies)

Sunday Football
This was the result of sliding in with the opposition 'keeper yesterday. It was worse below the sock. It hurt.

(picture in reply)
(Monkey the Chicken Twitter: death_stairs, Mon 2 Aug 2010, 14:05, 10 replies)

You're a Star, Katherine, a Star!!
I've told this story many times before, but not on this board. It all starts when I was 14

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~wavy lines~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You see, most kids will have lost all their baby teeth and gained a full set of permanent grown-up pearly whites by the age of 14. Unfortunately, I was not so lucky. My top canine teeth never showed their faces.

You can now probably imagine the torment of a 14 year old girl in school, not particularly attractive or slim and with 2 great big toddler-style gaps where her teeth should be (this part should probably be in last week's QOTW)

Anyway, it was decided that I was to have a 'minor procedure' to cut the gum off the reluctant teeth and attach a brace to pull them down in a lengthy and rather painful process.

After several visits to the hospital with Mr 'I used to be a plastic surgeon but I want to give orthodontistry a stab' and his boss, Sir 'I've been an orthodontist for a million years but never worked out hat mouths are attached to people' the date was finally set, I was finally going to get my teeth.

I was told that I would be awake, they would numb it so I wouldn't feel a thing and I could bring my own music (score!) so off I trotted with my mum ready for the op.

It starts with 2 anaesthetic injections (on each side) and a scalpel cautiously poked into my gum to see if it was numb.

It was not.

que 2 more anaesthetic shots and another scalpel

Nope.

Another 2 anaesthetics are administered, this time the needles go directly up the gap and deep into the gum. It hurt.

Still not numb.

After 12 injections each side they decide to just go ahead anyway. I'm told that if it's too much, I should stick out my hand and they'd stop immediately and give me a break.

Scalpels are brought out and my gums are dutifully shredded.

It’s still not numb. The nurse is beginning to wear out her new catchphrase "You're a Star, Katherine, You're a star!!" (Never mind the fact I introduced myself as Kat)

Now I've always been the kind of person to try and not let pain get to me. but this was a lot. not helped by the extra bubbly nurse screaming "You're a Star, Katherine, you're a star!!!!" at a louder and higher pitch each time, she was getting herself into some sort of frenzy. I wanted to kill her.

After what felt like hours of tugging, pulling, stretching and cutting, with the tears now pooling in my ears next to my CD player's ear buds I decide I need a break.

I stick out my hand.

The nurse holds on to it and says "You're a Star, Katherine You're a star!, you're a St-"

She couldn't finish the sentence because I kicked her. Hard.

I then bit the orthodontist.

They stopped.

I got my break, but I then had to endure the rough, soulless treatment of Mr 'I've been an orthodontist for a million years but never worked out hat mouths are attached to people' who proclaimed very loudly that they'd been doing the whole thing wrong and did it again.

After the ordeal, I had to wait for the head honcho orthodontist to come and check it out again before we could leave. All the while the anaesthetic is wearing off. The plan was to get some hard Solpadine taken before the anaesthetic wore off. Instead after an hour of waiting, he comes in (accompanied by the nurse who still insists I'm a star) looks roughly round my mouth and instructs my mother to take me home with a good dose of calpol.

You know the medicine for kids.

I could have kicked him again.

Sorry for the longs.
(Katzilla Follow Me! @Kat_Zilla (I don't promise funnehs), Mon 2 Aug 2010, 14:02, 6 replies)

When I was about 10ish
I borrowed one of those mini scooter things. There was this field down by where we used to live with a wild bit where all the older kids smoked and apparently did drugs and a massive playpark with swings and slides. Anyway down one side of this field thing there was a footpath that was basicaly gravely with a hill, and a massive bump near the bottom.

Anyway I got on the scooter, and after being dared by my brother and his mates I figured I'd fly the scooter over the bump real damn fast and basicaly be a hero in the eyes of my friends and siblings, so I went down the hill, all good then I hit the bump and the scooter kind of stopped but I kept going and somehow wrapped round the scooter, smashing my nuts into the front bit, scraping my arm and legs through the gravel and winding up with the back wheel smacking into my lower back somehow. It hurt like hell and I couldn't walk properly for a while and every gash on my arm and legs scabbed up horribly. Probably not as bad as I remember it but damn, that realy hurt at the time and still makes me wince a bit. My brother laughed at me but I got my own back by chucking a shoe at him when he was riding his bike and he accidentaly broke his wrist.
(Fredz A graveyard of hopes, a dump of ambition, Mon 2 Aug 2010, 13:41, Reply)

Ten little fingers, nine little toes and one massive one.
“Dinners ready” I jumped up, ran out of my bedroom, a vision of pie and mashed fixed in my head. Mmmm.

In my bedroom was an oil filled radiator. I caught the edge of my left foot under it, between the little toe and not so little toe and cut – ripped really between them. When I realised what had happened I was sat at the top of the stairs I was convinced I had cut my toe off. My mother is still shouting for me to come and collect my dinner. I’m holding my hot dripping foot in both hands, I’m hollering for her to come up the stairs as I can’t come down. Painful incident number 1.

What the bloody hell is wrong with you now? She is finally coming up the stairs; I have wrapped my foot in a towel by which point Mother appears shrieks at the sight of my blood smeared face and towel. No time to waste Mother unwraps towel, I’m shouting don’t touch it, don’t touch it.

My mother trained to be a nurse, for about 6 weeks, therefore well equipped she thought to deal with all medical emergencies. My toe had not been cut all the way through as I thought it was still connected by a flap of skin. My mother deemed this not worthy of a trip to A&E, dinner was ready and she would have to collect my father from the train station soon. So down to my mother’s operating theatre, the kitchen sink – sink full of dettol and salty water, then a bandage made from toilet paper, cotton wool and a tea towel. Painful incident number 2.

I had to wear one slipper to school. Painful incident number 3.

6 weeks later there I am on my way to a doctor’s appointment as my little toe is not so little anymore, in fact neither is my foot as it red and itchy. Painful incident number 4.

18 years later, all that is left of my 10 year old suppurating foot is a scar and little toe that doesn’t move a great deal. The right one is able to move a lot more than left one.
(Free pens 100, 101, 102 is still counting on, Mon 2 Aug 2010, 13:29, 4 replies)

I went looking for a friendly and open forum to chat on the web...
Unfortunately, I ended up on the B3ta talk board. Ouchhhhhhhhh!
(impossibly witty twat No, YOUR Mum etc etc, Mon 2 Aug 2010, 13:21, 4 replies)

Never ever try
to season a wok wearing only a partially done up cotton dressing gown.

I still have scars from belly button to mid thigh ...
(Biff..., Mon 2 Aug 2010, 13:17, 6 replies)

My grandfather (RIP) was a carpenter
and waaaaay back in the late 40s he was putting windows into house. Unfortunately the scaffold had been put up incorrectly and he fell 3 floors, smashing both legs. Months of operations passed but in the end, the legs could not be saved and both had to be amputated below the knee. Unfortunately many months of constant pain relief (morphine?) had led to it no longer having any great effect on him and he was very much aware and in great pain as both legs were sawn off. Worse, the specialist had been taken ill (common cold apparently) and so someone else did the op and cut the legs too short. As a result, the first time he bent his knees, the bone broke straight through the stumps and further operations and more time in hospital was required. The rest of his life he had two wooden legs and was in pain when walking.
He never coomplained.
The positive ending was that he met my grandmother in hospital and so not all was lost.

Edit: she was a nurse working at the hospital!
( ForecastMonkey, Mon 2 Aug 2010, 13:13, 1 reply)

Not me but it looked terrible...
Went to a works footy tournament once in Poole. It was played on Astroturf.
Blokes' legs look a bit ouchy when they've gone sliding in and sanded all the top layer of skin off. Nice raw flesh underneath. Lovely.
And the Hotel we stayed at must have thought they'd been sacrificing virgins at all the blood in the beds the next morning.
( Sallyrsm, Mon 2 Aug 2010, 11:51, 1 reply)

My balls cause untold distress to others.
Gather round, children, I'm going to tell you a story. The story of the most painful object ever designed by humans. A device whose sole raison d'etre is to inflict pain on unsuspecting individuals. And also on suspecting individuals who couldn't escape. This object is so horrific that even the US army dare not use it.

I speak, of course, of the Mouldmaster.

For the uninitiated, a mouldmaster is a football. Not just any football, it has a moulded rubber surface. This surface is not smooth. It's designed to be hard wearing, mostly as a training ball, and as such takes no shit from players. Oh no, it is the master of the pitch. The players are merely waiting to suffer, though they may not yet know this.

This question is about your ouchiest moment, so mine is simply as follows: I played football with a Mouldmaster. It's common for humans to boast of the pain they endured, as a badge of honour to say "This hurt soooo much, but I'm (more or less) not dead". With the sentence "I played football with a Mouldmaster" you can instantly get sympathy from any fellow sufferers.

We all shared the pain. Usually at school level or thereabouts, and always on a red ash pitch. All games took place on a freezing December morning, even if the calender read May. Mouldmasters had that effect. The game would start painlessly enough, with little warning of what was to come. After about 5 minutes, you'd go for a ball, but the defender would get there first and make his clearance. And the Mouldmaster would connect full force with your leg.

Medical science has no proof of the phenomenon that occurs when a Mouldmaster hits a leg, but we all know exactly what happens. Your leg instantly sprouts hundreds of microscopic penises, and each one of them immediately catches itself in a zip. There is no other explanation for the sheer waves of pain coursing through your body at the speed of light. The surroundings go black, for your brain has no capacity to process anything other than the pain. You pray for instant death to ease the suffering.

Later in the game, the same thing will happen, but this time the ball will not catch you full force. It will do much worse. It will catch you with a glancing blow. it is then you will realise that this is not a football at all, but a spherical belt sander on overdrive. The pain will seem like all the heat on earth has been concentrated on your skin, just on that one patch. You will, again, want to die.

The worst part is that as this is Scotland, you will be unable to show any pain, lest you be labelled homosexual by your peers. So there is the unedifying spectacle of 22 youthful males, all in chronic pain, all unable to say a word for fear that they'd be mocked. Only later in life, when reminiscing, can you admit the physical hell you underwent 3 times a week.

And I wouldn't change it for the world.
(Dr Death's Malpractice Suit, Mon 2 Aug 2010, 11:28, 5 replies)

Snow laughing matter!
A few years ago, when I was 16 or 17, I went sledging with some friends during a snowy spell.

A friend had what was basicly a snow mobile without the engine. His girl friend was steering the beast whilst I rode bitch, she took it over a little ridge that acted like a jump. The landing hurt rather a lot, but the worst was yet to come.

Dragging the sled back to the top of the hill we went again. Mercifully, a family blocked the jump, so the ride was sure to be less jarring, right? Wrong! Mates gf decides to swerve to avoid the family, and we hit the jump at an angle. I tried to raise my arse from the seat avoiding the brunt of the impact. This was a mistake. The already unstable flight was further upset, sending us into what experts refer to as a "death spiral" (possibly). Our bodies were flung from the sled, without a trace of dignity. I flew in a star shape, arms and legs sticking out, which is obviously not a good position to fall in. Landing on my left leg, I felt it bend to the right. Now I'm no doctor, but I know that my leg shouldent fold that way. I still had alot of momentum, I was sent rolling down the hill in short, faster then the poor girl, who I was about to roll over. Instinctivly, I grabbed hold and used my arms to push so that I didn't smash my head off hers, or squash her organs or any outher act that would get me in trouble with my mate.

We skidded to a halt, friends running over to fuss over her, whilst I waited for them to summon help. My friends instead turned to me and told me to get up, and stop being soft. "I broke my fucking leg!" I growled through gritted teeth. They didn't belive me. After a couple of minuets, my leg began to get some feeling back, so I struggled to my knees. Gingerly I stood, testing my leg, finding it painfull, but not broken. I'm not sure how I avoided serious injury, but I've never felt pain like that.

Still, didn't stop me going down again :D
(Mong goose, Mon 2 Aug 2010, 11:05, 3 replies)

Dentists actually use pliers
In my teens I developed minor hearing difficulties in my left ear and being in denial, I refused to admit that it was due to listening to my walkman at excessively loud levels. Come to think of it, I'm sure standing next to the speaker at World Dance for over 6 hours had nothing to do with it either.

Having consulted the only book in the house on medical issues (you have to remember this was pre the interwebs)I decided an impacted wisdom tooth was the cause of the problem.

This is where the story gets a little scary.

I book an appointment with the dentist, and somehow, amazingly he concurs with my prognosis and decides that the offender should be removed immediately. The nurse administers a local anaesthetic and prepares for the extraction. At this point, I'm ever so slightly alarmed that I'm not being booked in for surgery. The point I really lose my composure however is when the dentist brings his instrument of choice into view. It's a pair of pliers - I shit you not.

His next words will stay with me forever "You might feel a little pressure around your face".

He gets a good grip of my tooth and pulls, and pulls, and pulls. Nothing doing, but my face feels very wrong. He adjusts his grip, and pulls so hard that my entire body lifts out of the chair. At this point I'm crying because the sensation is too much to bear. The dentist looks flustered, as if he thinks it should be a lot easier than this.

I think he's going to give up, and I sense a glimmer of hope. Instead, he asks the nurse to straddle the chair and hold me down while he tries again. The nurse is pushing my chest and the dentist pulling my tooth, when finally there is an almighty "crack" as my wisdom tooth is finally withdrawn.

Pain? Well the real pain was from the pliers pushing against the other teeth in my mouth as the dentist tried to get better leverage. I also have bruises on my chest from the nurse who must have weighed north of 12 stone.

And of course, there was absolutely no improvement in my hearing. Amazing amounts of blood though...
(BinDipper, Mon 2 Aug 2010, 10:28, 11 replies)

Chemical burns all over my lap
I used to work with industrial power solvents. Occasionally I'd get a drop on my skin and I'd tough it out (the sensation is honestly like someone holding a lighter to your skin and lasts about a minute before tapering off).

Once I managed to spill about 3 or 4 litres on my midriff (including the family jewels) and went into shock. My motor skills virtually shut-down on the way to the chemical shower, I felt like I was on fire, it was excruciating.

The pain also scrambled my thinking so I couldn't make the simple operation of turning on the chemical shower. In the end I just tore off all my clothes and washed myself in the sink (which brought instant relief).

Oh how I laughed :(

p.s. luckily there was no lasting scarring. I had a 50pence sized chemical burn on my hip but it scabbed over and repaired itself as usual.
( Hitler's Barber Soylent Green is high in saturated fat, Mon 2 Aug 2010, 10:23, Reply)

I am a spacktabulous retard sometimes
I was about to make lunch and one of my housemates had used a ring on our electric hob before me. Thing is, the hob was so hot I couldn't tell which one had been on. So I did the following:

SLAM my hand on the top left hob - not hot.
SLAM my hand on the top right hob - not hot.
SLAM my hand on th - ow-ah-bugger-that's-the-bloody-hot-ow-one-ah.

Now riddle me this Darwin; if dipshit over here is still alive, how does one account for survival of the fittest eh?
(tarbin tarbis, tarbit, tarbamus, tarbimus, tarbant, Mon 2 Aug 2010, 10:18, Reply)

I used to race bikes dh
I heard about a racer whose head fell off.
it was incredibly tragic and i assure you it wasnt the slightest bit funny. I didnt know him but it really shocked me to the core.
(augsav forgot about B3ta, Mon 2 Aug 2010, 10:05, 13 replies)

Pins
Snabblim's story reminded me of this:

Age 24, a fell over while roller blading and broke a tooth and a thumb. Unfortunately, that wasn't the ouchy bit.

After about 6 weeks of my hand in plaster, with a big pin inserted to immobilise said thumb (done under general anaesthetic), the time came to take everything off. When it came to removing the pin, the doctor produced something that looked like a cross between a pair of pliers and a monkey wrench.

"Er, shouldn't I have a local anaesthetic or something?" asked I.
"Oh, no need for that" said the doctor, as the nurse held me to the chair, he grabbed the end of the pin with his instrument of torture and yanked. Then yanked again. Harder. Then braced himself against the chair and did it again.

When he finally had the thing out, I was white as a sheet and drenched in cold sweat. Then, to add insult to injury, he poured iodine solution into the newly created hole in my hand, wrapped it in a bandage and sent me on my way.

On the way home I had to stop off in the first pub I went past and order a stiff drink to stop the shaking.
(lolwhites, Mon 2 Aug 2010, 9:20, 2 replies)

One evening, on an acid trip, I denounced God.
I concluded that there was no God, that existence is ultimately futile, that there is no beauty or romance, as all can be explained by science and mathematics as merely logical, interactive systems that are a means to an end and which lead eventually nowhere. All human relationships and interaction are in essence selfish, and that procreation is doomed to eventual death and thus failure.

Of course, how everything got here in the first place was something of a sticking point, and despite reading A Short History Of Nearly Everything, understanding nearly all the words, and reading that formula that's meant to be the basis of everything it doesn't seem to be able to get beyond those first few milliseconds and explain how something came out of nothing, which it would appear seems to be foxing even the most brilliant minds.

Which depressed me even further.

Still - at least there are bright, shiny, electronic gadgets, and casual entertainment to distract us.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Mon 2 Aug 2010, 9:20, 4 replies)

When cutting into a chicken kiev
always look away. It hurts like a bitch when it spits its creamy load into your face.
(Monkey the Chicken Twitter: death_stairs, Mon 2 Aug 2010, 9:19, 3 replies)

I had an abdominal operation
a couple of years back. The end result of getting pissed and doing wheelies on a folding shopping bike, which promptly folded up mid wheelie!

After having my entrails expertly rearranged by a very nice surgeon man, I was left with a 6 inch wound, closed with a few of those butterfly things, and also by some internal stitches, which terminated in about three inches of pretty blue nylon sticking out of my skin at each end of the scar.

Now I'm a bit of a bugger for DIY stitch removal, in fact I like to remove them myself rather than let anyone else do it. At the end of the allotted 9 day period, and in the privacy of my own bathroom, I gave an experimental tug on the nylon string. It didn't move. I tried again, harder this time.

"Ouch" It still didn't move.

Once more, with a bit more effort

'Bloody hell that smarts"

But still the nylon seemed to be a permanent part of me.

At this stage I wimped out and reported to the local health centre. The nurse, who seemed like a kindly middle aged lady bade me drop my keks and lay on the couch.

"Oh yes, we'll soon have these out" quoth she, producing something that looked like a pair of surgical mole grips and grabbing the end of the suture.

And pulling...HARD

I may just have screamed a bit (rather loudly apparently!!) as the most pain I have ever in my life experienced shot through me, in fact I'm sure my handprints are still embedded in the steel side rails of the couch.

"Ooh, that suture was a bit tight wasn't it" she smiled, holding up a long piece of blue nylon thread for my inspection.

I lay there, pale and sweaty, unable to speak for a moment or two, and literally on the verge of passing out.


Even the nurse looked anxious and I had to stay on the couch for another 5 minutes or so whilst I regained my composure, before staggering back out through the waiting room and scaring all the other patients who had no doubt heard my scream.

Length..about fourteen inches or so.
(Snabblim Dropfritt, Mon 2 Aug 2010, 9:00, 2 replies)

Not a lot has heppend to me thank goodness.
However, the same can't be said for many people I know. The most horrific thing that springs to mind happened at Leeds Festival in 2001.

Having been at the festival for a couple of days and wandering around the surrounding area rather inebriated a few of us came across a bridge over a river with people jumping off of it and generally larking around. I tend to be a bit of a scaredy cat when it comes to this type of thing, but a couple of the lads I was with thought this would be a great idea.

Jumping off of a bridge whilst hammered on cans of Blackthorn. What could possibly go wrong?

Anyway, one of the lads, Lee, was running back round laughing and joking for his second jump into the river, climbed aloft the wall and jumped in feet first. Doing a silly jump and pulling faces was all great fun. A couple of seconds later, he surfaced and came to the edge of the river looking rather gaunt. As he climbed out we were all still in fits of laughter and rolling about the place until we realised his foot was losing blood at quite an alarming rate.

At first we thought the problem wasn't too serious and the blood was just diluted and therefore the wound looked far worse than it actually was. That was until we looked a little closer and realised that he was in fact one little piggy short of a full sty. Somehow, he must have landed on something on the river bed and taken his little toe clean off.

That was our queue to tear off t-shirts to try to stem the bleeding and one lad to be violently sick. Ambulance arrives, Lee is taken to hospital and spends the next day and a half there and the next year and a half in physio (contrary to popular belief, you do have a little toe for a reason).

We laughed at him for a bit as he lay there, drank a can outside A & E and went back to carry on with the festival.
( currantbun is nubtnarruc backwards, Mon 2 Aug 2010, 8:37, 1 reply)

The blinding pain
Getting an eyelash stuck under a contact lense. Possibly the most unpleasent event of my year so far.
(Mong goose, Mon 2 Aug 2010, 8:02, 2 replies)

The sulphuric -hydrochloric acid- goldfish incident
Back in the day I used to acid etch swords and viking headwear with pretty nordic patterns.
Brass was a piece of piss, ferric chloride used to etch circuit boards did a good job.
You got it splashed onto your skin and as long as you washed it off right away, nothing more damaging than a yellow stain on the skin.
I did once get it splashed into my eye, but the guy with me pushed my head into a sink full of cold water.
A short trip to A&E afterwards with eye drops sorted it out, uncomfortable yes but Ive had worse period pains.
But etching hard steel called for more drastic measures.
I dont know how we ( myself and one other) ended up with this but a solution of sulphuric and hydrochloric acid ( if I remember correctly) seemed the right thing to use, and it did give fantastic results
Carefully mixed according to instructions in a big glass vat.
At first I treated it with utmost respect and fear.
Goggles, gloves, tongs to lower the items into the acid bath, a vat of water close by to dunk the steel into afterwards..
But familiarity breeds contempt and after a couple of weeks I got blase.
Specially as the orders came through thick and fast after folks saw the initial results.
So one afternoon Ive got a pile of swords to etch, dip in acid, then water.
Put it down and pick up the next one.
After several water dips, it should have been changed for a fresh vat but we were on a roll.
I picked up another sword, went to dip it into the vat of acid and somehow managed to knock it against the glass rim, which shattered.
Acid poured out.
We jumped back and yelped as the brickwork started to smoke and dissolve right in front of us.
We are standing there congratulating ourselves at a lucky escape, then going WTF is that smell?
That smell is my shoes disintigrating
Whats that noise?
Thats me screaming as my shoes melt and the acid hits my feet.
He throws the vat of water onto my feet but unfortunately theres a bit more acid than water in it by now and it really doesnt help.
I'm trying to get my shoes off but the laces are a melted mess and my fingers are burning
Now this is all happening in a friends garden, he has a goldfish pond.
I jump into the pond.
Later in A&E the remains of my shoes are cut off, I have some superficial burns to my left foot and have lost one toenail, I'm crying like a baby but its deemed not worth my staying in overnight.
Taxied home after an injection, have painkillers, bandaged foot, some cream and a follow up appt for the next week.
Following day friend wants to know what happened to his garden wall and why are there dead goldfish floating in his pond?
meh!
(insomniac-surfer oh go on then, just this once, Mon 2 Aug 2010, 2:50, 2 replies)

Different hairs about my person
are anchored in different way. Head hairs are fairly well anchored, but the hairs about the temples can be yanked out if they get snagged in the hinge on Mrs Sandettie's spectacles.

I can pull any errant nose-hairs out without bother, but trying to pull out the brutishly thick eyebrow hairs I am beginning to cultivate in my inexorable slide towards forty-ness is hard bloody work. I think they're actually rooted in my skull like teeth.

However, pubes fall away like thistledown. If lying in bed and I happen to scratch, I can come away with two or three between my fingers which pisses off Mrs Sandettie no end when I sprinkle them onto the book she's reading.

The last time I did this, she reached over and plucked out a solitary hair from my scrotum. Those pubes aren't loosely thatched in. They're knotted from behind like a rug and then sealed with something. It came out and I yelped like a dog whose paw had been trod on. I looked down to see and it'd actually began to bleed from a small vacant hair follicle.

How people can wax down there is beyond me.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Mon 2 Aug 2010, 1:12, 2 replies)

Ouch
I used to go out with a girl who was rather pretty, but not too bright. One afternoon after we'd had sex, I was laying there drowsily in post coital bliss, when she's grabbed the end of the condom and started stretching it. "What are you doing?" I asked.
"I'm taking it off for you." she's replied. I explained that that's not how you take off a condom, and she's said "Oh", and released it. From a stretch of about 30cm!
SNAP! Right onto the tip of my overly sensitive, just ejaculated poor cock. I've let out an almighty bellow, and she's run for the door, fearing retaliation. Of which there was none, just a half cried explanation of why that wasn't such a brilliant idea.
I still shudder when I think of that, and it happened in about 1987!
(hixy, Mon 2 Aug 2010, 0:35, 5 replies)

Hot thing is hot.
I was young and inquisitive. Stupid you may say; accurately most likely, but it was harder to tell the difference at that age.

I'd seen my parents use the cigarette lighter in the car many times. They'd push the middle bit, wait a while and when it pops out they'd remove it from its little hidey hole and light their smoky sticks with it; filling the car with noxious fumes that made me feel sick, but strangely less anxious and irritable, as though a nagging longing had been satiated.

One day they were to leave me alone in the car, probably to pop into the shops or something. Why my brothers weren't there I can't say, but I was certainly alone, most definitely bored and really quite up for practising some of that stupidity I mentioned so much earlier on, if you care to remember. I pushed the lighter in and waited for it to pop back out, which it was kind enough to do after only a short pause. I pulled it from its house and wowed at the little glowing discs that decreased towards its fiery middle. Before long the glowing subsided and my brain, pig-thick as it was, told my hand it must surely be ok to place my little finger onto the thing: "Look at it, all not glowing and stuff, its as cold as an old poo" my mind suspected and my hand agreed, pushing pinkie onto the metal plate.

The following week my mum took me to see E.T. and still my finger fully out-glowed his.
( Moey, Sun 1 Aug 2010, 23:39, 7 replies)