Going for a walk
Not too long ago, at one of those parties where BBC 1Xtra provides the soundtrack and large quantities of tequila prevent CaptainBalbi from trying to find any station playing Talking Heads at 5am, my good friend who I shall call Mark (for that is his name) decided to 'just pop out for a walk'.

Mark was, shall we say, enhanced? Or rather, so thoroughly battered that Harry Ramsdens would have refused to serve him with a slice of lemon for an over heavy application of batter. With polo crusts of powder around each nostril and clutching a bag of small excitable awful tasting 'breathmints', he went off for his walk. The place had a large set of patio doors, the kind that are usually highly polished and cleaned to provide hilarity involving small pets and b3ta posters. Mark calmly opens the doors, and steps outside to take the air.

Here's where the problem began, dear reader. For we weren't downstairs. No, we were upstairs, and the patio doors led out onto a roof terrace. Mark wanders across the roof terrace, hops the wall onto the ridge of the roof opposite and potters along. And slips. And falls. *THUD*. No sound.

"fuckspangles!" says I, and hares it downstairs to find him endeavouring to light a cigarette with two gashes in his face and a left elbow that made him look like Popeye after a visit to a Spinich cannery.

Three breaks around the elbow, one along the forearm, eight stitches in the chin, seven on the forehead, case of concussion and some surgery - Mark's currently got 6 months off booze, fags and anything else.

So, I kept the tequila.

*pop*

Length? About two inches outward from where the elbow is normally.
(CaptainBalbi, Tue 3 Aug 2010, 15:36, 1 reply)

click
if only for the work "fuckspangles"

good story all the same.
(Eggstrovert isnt patronising you...honest..., Tue 3 Aug 2010, 15:57, closed)