» Ouch!

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.
(Mon 2nd Aug 2010, 15:58, More)

» Vomit Pt2

Sea Sick Blackivar
There are many who speak of the calming effect of the ocean, I am not one of them.

My nautical experiences have seldom ended with the contents of my stomach remaining where they began but usually, it has to be said, I am the only one who has to deal with that.

However, one summer back in the mid eighties, my parents decided to make the trip to France, obviously these being the days before Ryanair and Easyjet they elected to get to the continent by boat.

It all seemed to start well; we had arrived at New Haven in plenty of time, the seas were calm, it looked like it would be a easy, pleasant hop over to the continent. Buoyed by the prospect of a ferry-trip free of gut-wrenching lurches I tucked into a round of egg, tomato and onion sandwiches that my mother had made.

Half an hour in to the voyage and the boat is hardly rocking, the English channel is virtually a mill pond, my stomach, however, was unconvinced. With each minute swell (and by minute I mean the princess and the pea would have difficulty registering it) my innards tightened. I could feel the back of my throat begin to sweat, my cheeks were beginning to flush, very soon I was going to retch.

I bolted for the nearest toilet but as I raced down a corridor the spasms increased, my fight against my reverse peristalsis was a failure - but I wasn't going to give up without a fight. No, as the acrid burning liquid rushed up my throat, I jammed my hand across my mouth determined to hold it in until I could make the loos - that was the theory.

It seems what I had actually done, was reduce the area in which the vomit could escape therefore increasing the pressure propelling it from my body. The egg sandwich/hydrochloric acid mixture shot from my mouth arcing into the air, it traveled a good three metres before splattering against the leg of a man who unwittingly and no doubt regrettably had chosen to wear shorts that day. He was not pleased. I honestly believe my father thought twice before he laid to claim to me and chaperoned me away.

For the sake of my fellow passengers I did not eat for the rest of the journey.
(Sun 10th Jan 2010, 23:30, More)