Scars are cool. I heard that somewhere once. I’m pretty sure the words I heard next were, “Chicks dig guys with scars”.
I’m also pretty confident that what they meant to say was, “Chicks dig guys with scars – as long as they weren’t earned in a ridiculously embarrassing manner.” And let us be clear, I got my new scar in a ridiculously embarrassing manner. I told the story on the podcast, but as I’m not putting them up here any more, I thought I’d tell the story the old fashioned way in the style of our forefathers, with my fingers via a keyboard into a computer and onto the Internet.
It started with a morning visit to the bathroom, nothing unusual in that – we all do it. This was how I noticed I was about to run out of toiler roll – which would have created an entirely different blog post. So, I went onto the landing and to the airing cupboard where I keep spare loo rolls. To help paint the picture you are no doubt mentally building, I keep the loo rolls on the shelf directly below where I keep the iron. The iron which I had no put away properly the day before.
As I reached in for a new roll I accidentally brushed against the power lead for the iron, which knocked it from it’s precarious position and sent it tumbling down onto the top of my head. Such was the rotation of the iron that it was pointing direction downwards by the time it reached my head, ensuring that the only part that made contact with my skull was the pointy bit at the front. It would probably have hurt a lot more if more surface area had made contact, right?
I shot backwards with my hand at my head and let out a yelp. And some swears. Then some louder swears. I took my hand away to notice it was already covered in blood. This was not good.
I went back into the bathroom and began mopping blood from my head, but still it continued to seep out of the top of my head. By dabbing the site of the wound with my new toilet roll, I noticed what appeared to be a puncture mark of about 1cm in diameter. I did not know what to do, so I did what any sane person does in the midst of a medical emergency. I asked Twitter.
“How big should a cut on your head be, before you consider going to the hospital to get a stitch – serious question…?”
Twitter was not much help. Mostly people just wanted to know how I had done it for their own idle entertainment. The Internet can be a cruel place at times.
I was pretty sure that all the blood was quite misleading in terms of judging the severity of the injury, plus I could not think straight due to the blinding headache and I was feeling quite nauseous and really quite faint. So I decided that instead of wasting valuable NHS resources I would just to hold a sheet of kitchen roll to my head and have a little nap.
Eventually, the bleeding stopped. The following evening Cliff and Ben came round to record the podcast, and continued the theme of people off of the Internet giving me little or no sympathy – you can here their reactions in this podcast episode.
So what I would like a new excuse, please. I am going have this mark for quite some considerable time I imagine, and when questioned I would like to have something really cool to explain it away. Preferably something that doesn’t involve the use of the words ‘loo roll’ or ‘Morphy Richard Turbosteam’.