Monday, 13 June 2011

The Everlasting Plaster Reminders, and.....Trophies From The School Of Stupidity

What is it with the glue they use on big plasters? This picture is of my arm four days after I gave blood. Standard procedure is that when you have given enough blood, they put a small dressing over the point where the needle went into your arm, which you are supposed to leave on for six hours. I followed these instructions to the letter (my letter being "i" for idiot) - but when I took off the small dressing / big plaster - it's a grey area where one becomes the other - the adhesive from the dressing stayed on my arm. I shower everyday, and yet these final globules of "plaster gunk" refuse to go.  I've washed them, scrubbed them, picked at them with my fingers, my teeth, a knife, a knife in my teeth, my fingers in my teeth, my teeth in my fingers, and a knife in my fingers - all to no avail. I'm left with what looks like the bite mark of a ravenous hillbilly. No doubt, I will be scarred for life.

But I don't want another scar thank you. I already have quite enough:

Apple scar. I got this one trying to cut an apple in half. I was holding the apple from the top, much like a spin bowler holds the ball in cricket, and was forcing a knife up through the apple from below. Suddenly, the force I was exerting on the knife became greater than the resistance of the apple, and I sliced through the apple - and very nearly my index finger. Although I can remember doing it, I'm not sure how old I was. Whatever my age, I was stupid. Could have been yesterday then.
Toys R Us scar. I was working on the night shift at Toys R Us Basildon, and was pulling a flat cart out to the warehouse, The doors to the warehouse were solid apart from a narrow window with a metal surround. I went to push the door open with my left hand, and my middle finger slid down a sharp edge of the metal window surround, scooping a small section of my finger out. It bled like a git, but being the senior staff member on duty I had to stay until the day shift arrived (about six hours later) before I could go to A&E to get it looked at. The worst part was when they nurse had to scrub the end of my finger clean - it hurt so much I nearly hit the roof - which wasn't that far away, as I am six foot six inches tall.

St Anselm's scar. At school, I was a timid soul - terrified of everything and everyone. Also I had a small circle of friends - so small in fact that I didn't fit in it - so I often ate lunch alone. Crying. That's not true - I didn't each lunch. So one day, I'm sat under the stairs that lead up to the language block. In my school, the underside of the stairs was encased in concrete, and I was sat beneath this. Suddenly there was a banging on the door, and I was so surprised at this (having been pleasantly in my own little world, where I had friends and lunch), that I jumped up and cracked my head on the corner of the concrete underside of the stairs. I instinctively put my hand to my head, and when I looked at it, it was red with blood. And this scar is the permanent reminder of those painful, unhappy days. And of how clumsy I was (am).

Batman scar. This scar might be a little difficult to see - if you look at the creases in the middle of my finger are, and then scan them to the left, you will see the scar. I got this scar without even realising it. I was taking my son/nephew to the cinema for my Birthday. Yes I said son/nephew - he was neither, but my relationship with his mother at the time was a little bit complicated to explain. Anyway, we were going to see one of the Batman films - the one with George Clooney as Batman maybe?. Anyway, for one reason or another, we arrived late at the cinema, and it was dark as we made our way to our seats. As we sat down, I felt a sharp pain in my little finger as I leant against the back of the seat as I sat. The pain went as quickly as it had come so I thought nothing of it. At the end of the film, when the lights came up, I saw that my little finger had been bleeding profusely - and that I had cut it on an exposed piece of metal at the back of my seat. And do you know what? I didn't even complain to anyone.


So, those are my scars. You will note that all of them have been incurred in one way or another by my own lack of thought. It's quite surprising that I've made it to this age really.  But these are not all of my scars - I have a couple from a leg operation that I only show to people that really like me.

No-one has seen them.

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