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I had a rather unfortunate incident last night, which was painful, messy and almost not worth mentioning.
I broke a plate the other night. I'd just been to the pub with a mate of mine and grabbed a curry on the way back. Seconds after scoffing my Madras, I settled back into the luxurious folds of the sofa to sigh contentedly and sup upon my beer. In doing so, I kicked the chair over upon which the curried plate did rest, and it toppled to the floor, smashing the plate and smearing the carpet with insiduous curry remains.
That annoyed me.
I took the broken plate and slammed its remains into the black bin liner, that I am too lazy to place into a bin and eventually went to bed, not knowing that something would soon happen that would change my life forever.
Last night I came home from work and walked into the kitchen barefooted, carrying my spoils from the kebab shop (what a healthy diet I have) and sliced my second littlest toe wide open on a jagged piece of broken plate jutting out of the black bin liner. I hobbled about the kitchen for a minute, then hobbled into the bathroom and placed my foot into the bath. I turned on the taps and doused my toe with cold water. Blood spurted from the wound. Twice. And then flowed freely for many minutes. I was gutted. I didn't want to spend my evening in casualty but the blood just kept coming.
So in true bloke bravado I walked back into the kitchen to see if I could find something to stem the tide. Blood oozed onto the wooden floor as I rummaged through the drawers looking for a plaster, a bandage or anything remotely defined as "first aid". What did I find? Some bog roll.
Hungry and annoyed by my toe, I knew the only course of action available to me. Wrap my toe in bog roll, place it on the chair and eat my tea, whilst watching the TV. It was a crazy plan, but it might just work.
Well it did. The bog roll seemed to fuse with the wound; matted with blood it forced the blood to congeal and thus the bleeding stopped. My toe didn't hurt so I simply and bravely continued to watch a DVD and make the most of my life.
I did begrudge moping up the blood from the kitchen floor however.
I broke a plate the other night. I'd just been to the pub with a mate of mine and grabbed a curry on the way back. Seconds after scoffing my Madras, I settled back into the luxurious folds of the sofa to sigh contentedly and sup upon my beer. In doing so, I kicked the chair over upon which the curried plate did rest, and it toppled to the floor, smashing the plate and smearing the carpet with insiduous curry remains.
That annoyed me.
I took the broken plate and slammed its remains into the black bin liner, that I am too lazy to place into a bin and eventually went to bed, not knowing that something would soon happen that would change my life forever.
Last night I came home from work and walked into the kitchen barefooted, carrying my spoils from the kebab shop (what a healthy diet I have) and sliced my second littlest toe wide open on a jagged piece of broken plate jutting out of the black bin liner. I hobbled about the kitchen for a minute, then hobbled into the bathroom and placed my foot into the bath. I turned on the taps and doused my toe with cold water. Blood spurted from the wound. Twice. And then flowed freely for many minutes. I was gutted. I didn't want to spend my evening in casualty but the blood just kept coming.
So in true bloke bravado I walked back into the kitchen to see if I could find something to stem the tide. Blood oozed onto the wooden floor as I rummaged through the drawers looking for a plaster, a bandage or anything remotely defined as "first aid". What did I find? Some bog roll.
Hungry and annoyed by my toe, I knew the only course of action available to me. Wrap my toe in bog roll, place it on the chair and eat my tea, whilst watching the TV. It was a crazy plan, but it might just work.
Well it did. The bog roll seemed to fuse with the wound; matted with blood it forced the blood to congeal and thus the bleeding stopped. My toe didn't hurt so I simply and bravely continued to watch a DVD and make the most of my life.
I did begrudge moping up the blood from the kitchen floor however.
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Thats why I like kebabs, no need for a plate (although if you like sauce on it a napkin is advised)
If it had of been a woman then she would have hopped around for an hour, collapsed for a further two and then got the national guard in to find her 'broken' nail! Ha!
That'll learn ya!
Now go stick some TCP on it to stop it getting infected.
Now go stick some TCP on it to stop it getting infected.
I had a rather unfortunate incident last night, which was painful, messy and almost not worth mentioning.
I broke a plate the other night. I'd just been to the pub with a mate of mine and grabbed a curry on the way back. Seconds after scoffing my Madras, I settled back into the luxurious folds of the sofa to sigh contentedly and sup upon my beer. In doing so, I kicked the chair over upon which the curried plate did rest, and it toppled to the floor, smashing the plate and smearing the carpet with insiduous curry remains.
That annoyed me.
I took the broken plate and slammed its remains into the black bin liner, that I am too lazy to place into a bin and eventually went to bed, not knowing that something would soon happen that would change my life forever.
Last night I came home from work and walked into the kitchen barefooted, carrying my spoils from the kebab shop (what a healthy diet I have) and sliced my second littlest toe wide open on a jagged piece of broken plate jutting out of the black bin liner. I hobbled about the kitchen for a minute, then hobbled into the bathroom and placed my foot into the bath. I turned on the taps and doused my toe with cold water. Blood spurted from the wound. Twice. And then flowed freely for many minutes. I was gutted. I didn't want to spend my evening in casualty but the blood just kept coming.
So in true bloke bravado I walked back into the kitchen to see if I could find something to stem the tide. Blood oozed onto the wooden floor as I rummaged through the drawers looking for a plaster, a bandage or anything remotely defined as "first aid". What did I find? Some bog roll.
Hungry and annoyed by my toe, I knew the only course of action available to me. Wrap my toe in bog roll, place it on the chair and eat my tea, whilst watching the TV. It was a crazy plan, but it might just work.
Well it did. The bog roll seemed to fuse with the wound; matted with blood it forced the blood to congeal and thus the bleeding stopped. My toe didn't hurt so I simply and bravely continued to watch a DVD and make the most of my life.
I did begrudge moping up the blood from the kitchen floor however.
I broke a plate the other night. I'd just been to the pub with a mate of mine and grabbed a curry on the way back. Seconds after scoffing my Madras, I settled back into the luxurious folds of the sofa to sigh contentedly and sup upon my beer. In doing so, I kicked the chair over upon which the curried plate did rest, and it toppled to the floor, smashing the plate and smearing the carpet with insiduous curry remains.
That annoyed me.
I took the broken plate and slammed its remains into the black bin liner, that I am too lazy to place into a bin and eventually went to bed, not knowing that something would soon happen that would change my life forever.
Last night I came home from work and walked into the kitchen barefooted, carrying my spoils from the kebab shop (what a healthy diet I have) and sliced my second littlest toe wide open on a jagged piece of broken plate jutting out of the black bin liner. I hobbled about the kitchen for a minute, then hobbled into the bathroom and placed my foot into the bath. I turned on the taps and doused my toe with cold water. Blood spurted from the wound. Twice. And then flowed freely for many minutes. I was gutted. I didn't want to spend my evening in casualty but the blood just kept coming.
So in true bloke bravado I walked back into the kitchen to see if I could find something to stem the tide. Blood oozed onto the wooden floor as I rummaged through the drawers looking for a plaster, a bandage or anything remotely defined as "first aid". What did I find? Some bog roll.
Hungry and annoyed by my toe, I knew the only course of action available to me. Wrap my toe in bog roll, place it on the chair and eat my tea, whilst watching the TV. It was a crazy plan, but it might just work.
Well it did. The bog roll seemed to fuse with the wound; matted with blood it forced the blood to congeal and thus the bleeding stopped. My toe didn't hurt so I simply and bravely continued to watch a DVD and make the most of my life.
I did begrudge moping up the blood from the kitchen floor however.
Page: