» Ouch!

Surely a hand shouldn't be that small...
When I was 10 the selected few (I say that, but it was a school of 28 kids in total...) were sent to France on the local cultural exchange trip.

I learnt a lot on that holiday. Such as the acceptable presence of fried egg on pizza and a genuine respect for chocolate on bread for breakfast (ha, take that, Mum. They do it in France and they've got style...).

What I also learnt was that the French medical system really couldn't give a flying fuck if you turned up on their doorstep being foreign and injured.

I was quite a horsey child (not that I looked like Camilla, I just got on, fell off and got back on the beasts again with quite a degree of regularity) so the family I was staying with thought, 'Genius. Take her to the stables and that'll keep her quiet'. As it would have done, normally.

However, the stable had one animal who was the equine version of Regan MacNeil. Gallic humour obviously decreed that I should have the pleasure of said beast so I dutifully stood there holding the lead rope from its head collar, waiting for others to get ready to go on the ride. It then reared up with no warning, yanking my hand and half my arm through a metal hoop in the wall that was a) about 2 inches smaller than the diameter of my hand and b) about half an inch from a brick wall.

The upshot of this is that I stood there for 2 hours waiting for the fire brigade to arrive and cut the hoop off wall (I did mention it was around half the diameter of my hand, yes?) and was then taken to a hospital that believed the best treatment for a hand that was pretty much skinned to the bone all over was a dip in very strong disinfectant.

I might have been 10, but I'm fairly sure I invented some curious new curses that night.

The scar still raises eyebrows now that I'm 31. Though that might because I credit it to the factually correct, but not necessarily whole story explanation of of 'oh, it's a rope burn'...
(Mon 2nd Aug 2010, 23:38, More)

» PE Lessons

On the Road...
To say we weren't the sportiest group of people at our school would be an understatement, but this is a really rather special tale even by our standards.

There were some disused railway lines that backed onto our school (inventively refered as 'The Lines'. Never let it be said that we aren't creative Up North), and it was along these lines that the cross country route went. Or it was if you were part of the 99% of students who took part in such an activity. We were the 1% who bunked off and went for a cigarette and a cup of tea at a friend's house whose garden overlooked the Lines. We'd let our teacher lead the way and then go through the gate, stock up on nicotine and caffeine and rejoin the group when we saw them come back the other way.

Until one day when said friend's mum was off sick and our personal cafe was out of bounds. No other option for it than to go along with the run. Which would have been fine if a) we were vaguely fit and could keep up with the rest of the class and b) we had the fainest idea what the route was.

Sure enough, we soon lose sight of even the straggeliest of stragglers and soon find ourselves wandering through building sites and the like. 4 teenage girls in gym kit asking directions from a bunch of builders do not, we found, get a very sensible response.

Anyway, we bumble around for a while, take advantage of the lack of supervision and settle down for a smoke then think 'hmm, we've probably been a while. We should make our way back'. So we retrace our steps almost back to school. Hurrah, we think. We've gotten away with it. Only to be confronted with a very irate gym teacher. And two mounted policemen. Turns out we'd been gone for the best part of two hours.

Oh, and while I'm at it, said gym teacher also thought it would be a wise idea to encourage one of the sportier types who was training for the discus at an inter-schools sports event with the now immortal phrase 'I'll just stand over here, see if you can get it over my head'. Cue staples in her head for around 6 months.
(Tue 24th Nov 2009, 21:39, More)

» Rubbish Towns

Watford
After my best mate threatened to burn said home town of my ex-boyfriend to the ground my Dad responded 'Yep. I can see the headlines now. Quarter of a million pounds worth of improvements done to Watford'.

I think his estimate was probably conservative.
(Sat 31st Oct 2009, 17:11, More)

» Bizarre habits

Pavement obstacle course
I can't walk over 3 grids on the pavement. The very thought of it gives me the heebie jeebies. I've done it ever since I was a kid and can't shake it even now I'm on the should know better side of 30.

Oh, and walking under those road signs that go over the pavements ruins your sex life.
(Fri 2nd Jul 2010, 20:48, More)