QotD: Don't Worry, It'll Heal (or How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love The Crunch)

How many bones have you broken? Yours or someone else's?

I am not entirely sure how many bones I've broken. It is between three and five, over the course of three incidents.

Let's go backwards in time, shall we ?

I probably broke one or two ribs one birthday, through youthful enthusiasm. You know when two people jump and bounce off one another's chests ? Well, I was doing that repeatedly with some chap, and we were jumping higher and higher each time. Then on one turn, without warning, he declined to jump. The left hand of my rib-cage plunged into his right shoulder, and I fell to earth like a sack of shit, completely winded. I don't know for sure if anything was broken as I never got it checked out; but it was still sore for months, which leads me to suspect.

I broke my upper jaw when I was seventeen. I'm not going to tell this story. Partly because it is too long. But mainly because it is too disgusting, and you'd thank me not to - trust me.

When I was fifteen, I went to see Biohazard in Bogiez in Cardiff. Rock! It was *mighty*! At the beginning, the band announced that their stage was also the audience's stage; and that if security intervened, they would stop playing and the venue would assume responsibility. The crowd went understandably kongshit. It was turbochaos. I managed to survive my first couple of stagedives intact. But by the last song, the crowd was exhausted and had thinned quite a bit. That didn't deter me from pegging across the stage, and launching myself. The crowd caught me, momentarily - before allowing me to plummet, and land on my back.

'Ooh, this doesn't feel right,' I thought. So I made my way to the bathroom, intending to get myself a drink of water. As I entered the gents (no sniggering, please), I felt something move inside the lower portion of my back. This triggered nausea. I hobbled to the taps, but felt too sick to drink. I looked around, and realised that everything I could see that was dark looked like deep blue television interference, and it was spreading. I could see myself going blind. I made my way to the door, and through the club, heading for the reception. Then the lighter things were engulfed by the interference. By the time I got to the foyer, I was completely blind.

"Help, I can't see!" I implored.

"Fuck off, kid," came the supportive response.

After stumbling around for a minute or so, bumping into things, I finally managed to trigger the previously concealed compassion in the staff. Either that, or a more fundamental 'lawsuit avoidance' instinct. So they sat me down, and got me something to drink. I'm not sure how long I was sitting there. I was very, very frightened. I could hear one of my friends arrive, and he volunteered to go and find my brother. After a few more minutes, my sight returned. When it did, the band were walking past. I grabbed Evan Seinfeld's hand and shook it. By now I was sore, but relieved.

Turns out that I'd broken two of my left-hand transverse processes. I didn't find this out for another two weeks, after an osteopath couldn't work out what was wrong, and finally sent me for an x-ray. In the meantime, I'd been to see another hard rockin' band at Bogiez. But I'd avoided the slam, and sure as shit avoided stagediving that time.

And going back in time again, on my first day, I was born. I have broken my mother's heart consistently and often since then. Although I'm not sure that counts as a bone.