Nice story that noface, worth the pain in the end.

Never broken a bone either. But I do have titanium bones in me ears.

As Gav has, I've told that story on Oldrum too.

Never broken a bone yet, fortunately.

I used do a natty line in cracked ribs, bruises, dislocated kneecaps and so forth but now I'm so bloody cautious I rarely hurt myself.  Although, my leg is still sore from falling into some roadworks when drunk last month (no Frantic, it's not time to post that photo again).

Worst injuries have been slicing open my wrist (yet managing to avoid all major arteries) when aged about 9 and sliding down some steep cobbles in a bread tray - I vividly remember looking inside my hand (well, it felt like it at least); dislocating my knee the night before I was due to move in with my girlfriend by jumping onto (and then rapidly off of) a table at a drum n bass night at The Art School in Glasgow (everyone else did all the heavy lifting for me!) and cracking 3 ribs whilst trying to turn off a smoke alarm in my mates house - he punted me up and succeeded only in launched me across his hall where I landed on the wooden arm of a chair.

I also almost knocked myself out with my own office door at work.  Needed 3 steri-strips across a nasty gash on my eyebrow, but it was worth it for the reactions of my workmates at seeing me stagger into the corridor with blood running down my face.

Oh yeah, I also tried to get a bottle of irn bru open on a door hinge once, and the thing shattered and sliced my little finger on my left hand open - still got the scar.

It's getting very Jaws in here.

Coopers Green wrote:

Being a Da, Elm's story is the most frightening one here rather than some of the more amusing, klutzy ones.

Oh yeah, especially now I live in an open-plan US-style house.  It genuinely terrifies me that I have to cook with Nim around at all; the poor lass does occasionally get squealed at to move away from the over more than is strictly necessary.

For some reason (prob being the youngest child) I always get warned about doing stuff and used to get nagged as a kid like I was a walking wrecking ball. As it is my Dad and my brother are far worse.

When I was 16 and working part time I asked my dad for a lift to work. "ok 5 minutes Ive just got a quick job to do" he said, famous last words.
My dad proceeded to pick up a fuck of big masonry chisel and a lump hammer, walked over to where the old washing line was and bent down to chisel out the old bit of concrete base.
As he swung the hammer back he got distracted by the cat, swung the hammer back down trapping his lower thumb knuckle between chisel and hammer.
He drove me to work with me doing the gears, by this point his hand was already purple. By the time I finished work his knuckle was the size of a cricket ball.

Cue days of arguments between him and my Mum about going to the hospital and him manning through it.

This has been one of my favourite threads to read. Schadenfreude for the win.

Liveinadive wrote:

Cue days of arguments between him and my Mum about going to the hospital and him manning through it.

I've genuinely never understood why people won't see doctors/take medicine etc.  Bewilders me.

@Mostly

I've done that too as a nipper. Again some fool was talking to me as I was running home for my tea. Those lampposts don't give a fucking millimetre do they? Full on egg on my bonce.

I think it's the feeling of "ah its bot that bad". I never go to the docors and only been to the hospital twice, once after a car crash and once to have my tonsils out.

I'm one of the clumsiest idiots in the world, having broken my arm twice, foot twice, toes too many times to count, and gotten a needle stuck in my other foot (which resulted in some fun surgery shenanigans).  The two injuries most related to my own stupidity though ocurred within a couple of weeks of each other, during my first year at uni (predictably).

So the first one was at the very start of what was meant to be a fun night on the sauce. In halls my friends and flatmates all used to sit round our flat with a cheap carry out, before heading down to the halls bar for plenty of cheap beer. After one too many bottles of Irn Bru VK (ugh) we headed out the door, but for some reason decided to hit the bar via the back entrance, which was down a steep grassy slope.
Naturally since it was Aberdeen, it had been pissing with rain, and one of the girls we were with wasn't too keen on drunkenly stumbling down a wet hill. Trying to impress the lass, I grabbed her in a firemans lift and barrelled down a top speed. After an audible snap crackle and pop, my right knee went out from under me at a nasty angle, and we both went flying down to land face-first on the concrete.
I woke up with everyone crowded round me either laughing or asking me if I needed help, and the girl bawling about how I'd ruined her dress. Even though I couldn't actually move my leg, in my drunken state I couldn't feel a thing, so stupidly thought "No pain = No problem!". By then a porter had run down to ask if I wanted to go to the hospital, to which I loudly replied "No, just get me inside and get me a pint!", which illicited a cheer from my pals. One on either side, they carried me in, sat me down, and went to get me a few beers. By the time they got back I was in tears of agony, and sheepishly asked to be taken back up to the porter so he could drive me to the hospital. Cue a fun night spent in A&E, where I found out I'd torn a ligament in my knee, and that I'd be walking on crutches for at least the next few weeks. When I rocked back up to my flat in the morning my assembled flatmates just burst into laughter and slagging, and rightfully so. They're still pricks though.

So a few weeks later I was off my crutches and we decided to head out and celebrate. After a night on the town we're taking the long walk back to halls in the middle of the night. En route we pass a graveyard, which you can hop into over a short wall. Feeling adventurous we decided to go exploring inside, still following the direction of the road, until we reached the end. My pals decided we should head back the way we came, but that's not the way young Kaz liked to do things. I decide it's much quicker to just hop over the wall we've been following, thinking I'll land happily on the street we came in on. Sadly I'd forgotten that by now the wall is 12 feet above street level, so my friends get the amusing image of me jumping over a wall, hearing another loud crunch, then looking over to see me splayed face first on the pavement like a fucking Looney Tunes cartoon. They laughed (again) and shouted that they'd take the long route back to me. Cue another fun night spent in A&E, a badly sprained ankle (my opposite leg, brilliantly), and another couple of weeks on the crutches. Fuck alcohol, basically.

Once at Scout camp I accidently pressed my arm against a gas canister being used as a lamp. I had a burn about 5 inches along the bone on the outside of my right arm. It was really bad actually, it didnt just blister a bit it looked more like I had ran my arm down a lathe, it was a pure open wound instantly quarterized.

I decided to pick the scab off during one assembly, the wound was deep enough i could lay my finger flat inside it. I left assembly looking like something from a horror film.

I was about a week out of plaster for a broken wrist and I was having a cheeky pint. Not planning to get wrecked, just some socialising now I was sans-plaster. I ended up falling down anyway due to general clumsiness. I knew I was going to fall down; I sort of stumbled first and realized "Oh shit, I'm going to fall." I knew I absolutely could not put my hand out or I would re-break my wrist, and my other hand had a pint in it.

So I turned 180 degrees to land on my back, and held my neck up as to not whack the back of head on the floor.

Landed with a dull thud and didn't spill a drop of my pint.

Quality Fenton.

On my last ever family holiday abroad, only me and my cousin were old enough to go out on the lash (16). We were having a good night, cheap vodka was go so we were a little bit tipsy. We went into a bar and as it was my turn for the pops I made straight for the counter. Returning triumphantly with a double vodka and fresh orange in each hand, I head over to where she's standing only to have my feet fly out from under me the second I got there. The stupid bint was only standing on a slope, one foot at the top one at the bottom, and someone must have spilled a pint just to complete the death trap. 

She couldn't move for laughing, so two Spanish guys had to pick me up off my arse, drinks still in my mits. Can't say I didn't spill any unfortunately. My family had my life for the rest of the holiday and she still cracks up to this day if someone mentions it. Utter bitch.

I have sliced a finger open while opening a tin of spam. It was one of those tins you had to open by sort of twisting a key round the outside. I just wanted my delicious spam when I pulled the key too hard and the metal sliced me good and propper.

Had to through much of the (literally) bloody spam away.