Impatience is not a virtue.
One night, back in my student days, I used to twat about on my friend's farm. I'd known him since I was a wee boy, and his dad thought nothing of letting us loose with the farm equipment, as we'd often help out.

One day, we were indulging in some home-made cider (not the shit you get in packets these days, Lord only knows the strength) in the barn. There was absolutely nothing in it except some rusty red tractor.

After a few glasses (maybe 6) we decided we'd best get home to sleep it off for some coursework due in soon. I stood up, in almost pitch black, and instantly wobbled backwards. Straight onto the tractor. I heard a nice crunch, something that sounded like a louder version of the ever-satisfying back crunch. I fell down, drunk as a skunk, and sat there giggling for a bit.

The adrenaline wore off, and I realised that I couldn't feel my legs. I'd only gone and broken my bloody back!

A few weeks (6) of boring hospital food later, I staggered out of the hellhole with a few stitches and a bit of metal in my back. All was well, though, and the crutches helped me walk, alongside physio.

Not even a week after I was off the crutches, but still with a sore back, I was waiting in the Post Office queue for something or another. I was reading a book whilst in the queue as the blue rinse brigade often took ages in there. I obviously wasn't quick enough to move forward to fill a ONE PERSON space in said queue, nd some old biddy poked me right on the sore bit.

The poor woman nearly had a heart attack when I dropped to the floor and swore enough to make a sailor blush. THAT fucking hurt.
(Iggy Pop's Teeth, Thu 29 Jul 2010, 23:32, Reply)