I'll do anything to win a race!
Picture the scene if you will. Its mid-afternoon, it’s a sunny summers day, the trees are a swayin’ the birds are a chirpin’ and an 8 year old me is having a race against my 11 year old sister.

We both heard my dads car pull into the driveway at the same time and both decided to run around the side of the house and meet him by the back gate. As we had come to this decision at the same time, things took a dangerous turn. One of us had to get there first, and it was bloody gonna be me! I leapt from the sofa with all the cunning precision of a leapy cat and raced around to the back door. Legs pumping arms flailing I threw the door open and tore around the side of the house. The alleyway leading upto the gate was narrow and I knew my sister wouldn’t be able to overtake me, I'd won, I'd bloody done it! Basking in my victory I threw a glance over my shoulder, ready to give the winners grin when WHAM! Ah yes, I was supposed to open the gate! Ricocheting off the wooden gate I grabbed at the air to break my fall, sadly all I encountered was a brick wall and scrapped down alongside it with my elbow before crashing into the concrete… and that was my welcome home to my dad.

After regaining consciousness on the kitchen floor I looked up to see my mother flapping around the kitchen in the ‘medical box’ looking for the TCP and other ghastly creams to administer to my pretty impressive injury list. My loving sister affectionately called me a dope and fucked off while my mum fussed and covered me in plasters.

Now you’re probably thinking, Flim, we all fall down when we’re kids, its what we do, this doesn’t seem all that ouchy to me, well… read on.

All seemed fine until a day or two later when it was time for the plasters to come off, that’s where I encountered a small problem… they wouldn’t come off. My darling mother had brought some new and weird plasters where instead of sticking fabric side down on the cut, you would actually stick a shiny sticker side down on the cut… so as she got it the wrong way around the fabric from the plaster had intertwined with my scabs on my elbow, upper arm and knee and wasn’t budging. After gently peeling at the plasters for about 2 hours, I was in a lot of pain and no closer to getting them off me… roll on the ouchy part. My mum soaked each of the plasters in water, got my dad to hold me down and ripped each of the three massive plasters off my skin in a whirlwind of scabs and blood while I screamed and squirmed like someone getting stoved in with a very sharp, but very small and pointy hammer! To this day I have never known pain like it, I also still have the scars on my arm and when I am drunk I tend to thrust in my mums face and shout (not dramatically at all I might add) ‘remember when you did this to meeeee’!

I still won the bloody race though. *nods head*
(Flim-Flam the Magnificent "You is talking loco and I like it!", Fri 30 Jul 2010, 14:03, Reply)