I was three years old
and in the kitchen with my mother on a frosty January morning. My mother, in her infinite wisdom, gave me a knife to take to my dad who was in the garden at the time.
I opened the back door, and proceded to slip on the ice on the top step, tumble down 4 concrete steps and split my forehead open in a fountain of blood.
The scar is still there see (slightly faded now), but I still want to know why my mother thought it was a good idea to entrust a 3 year old with a knife in the first place.

Also, I have a scar under my chin. I borrowed a mates bike (pedal not motor) and came zooming down the hill very, very, very fast. Turned into the side street where my friends were waiting and slammed on the brakes. The rear brake didn't work, but the front one worked a charm. I went straight over the handlebar and travelled about 5metres on my chin.
I didn't borrow any else's bike after that ;)
( just mike, Mon 7 Feb 2005, 13:57, Reply)