Can you help me mate? (the impatient need not read on!)
When I was about 14/15, my friends and I used to foolishly muck about in derelict buildings to 'keep us off the streets'.

On departing from the place one Sunday, I heard what I thought were my jeans ripping as I climbed through a seemingly glassless window. One of my friends asked 'Who's bleeding?', pointing to the trail of blood on the window ledge. I then noticed the perfectly neat and straight 2" opening on the palm of my hand. Quite a deep and wide one, pouring with blood, I somewhat calmly held the wound closed as we made our way back home to get taken to hospital (Sunday services would have meant standing around bleeding).

I saw an oldish man getting into his car and the fact that I was now shitting myself forced me to ask if he would run me to the hospital, accompanied by a friend while another reported home. The kindly man gave me a bandage to help stop the bleeding.

Luckily, I felt no pain (shock) UNTIL my nerves were kicked back into duty by the anaesthetic needle going in to deaden it for stitches (four).

Still, it taught me a lesson, but not my mate, who gashed his thumb open mucking about in the same place two days later - only got three stitches.

Silly buggers were we.
(Green-Alsatian, Fri 4 Feb 2005, 23:07, Reply)