I would like to think that my survival instincts are quite finely tuned; somewhere between cowardice and neurosis.
I’m normally the first out of a building when the fire-alarm goes off. I happily abandon my shopping and proceed at speed to the nearest exit. Yes, I know they normally go off by themselves but I’d rather not take that chance. I’m always surprised to see everyone else blithely carry on filling their trolleys.
I dislike huge crowds, although I used to join Anti Vietnam demos in London in the late sixties. I didn’t manage to get arrested, which was probably a good thing on reflection.
I avoided banks and liquor stores in the US, although I think this was something to do with watching too many American films.
I don’t indulge in too many dangerous activities at the moment, I admit, but I used to do a bit of cliff climbing and caving years ago.
I used to ride horses and although I had some narrow squeaks, I escaped serious injury. I used to hitch-hike with a friend occasionally when I was a student and only once ended up with a driver who was determined to commit suicide. We obviously talked him out of crashing into the next motorway bridge and ended up at his parents’ house in Shropshire, although we were supposed to be in London for a party!
I’ve managed to destroy a couple of cars. I had to be extracted from one with the help of the fire brigade. My neck was a bit sore for a couple of weeks but the company kindly replaced the rather nasty vomit coloured mangled wreck with a brand new blue one! The other one was my own, but its appearance was not improved when I ran into an oil tanker.
So why is it that I managed to badly sprain my ankle playing chess, and my most serious injury to date was a rather nasty fracture of the other ankle at Henley Festival?
PS: I will maintain the necessary vigilance and if I believe the Islamification of Europe to be a serious possibility, then I’ll be on the next plane out!
Boadicea's Chariot 
Ha Ha. Saw this and though of you.
Nice post.
Cheers, Toc! 🙂
I’d forgotten about that “hazard”. Only an hour to go.
NB 6? It has always been noon for me. I was really happy that there was a Noonday Gun in Cape Town. Very civilised.
I rarely drink during the day; I just fall asleep, and I can’t drive.
Sunday lunch is about the only exception and champagne brunch on Christmas Day.
Just how, I mean HOW did you sprain your ankle playing chess?
Was it with one of those giant outside chess sets?
Er no, I was quite young and it was in the house. I moved to see the board from the other side and tripped over a rug!
Dangerous game chess!
Crikey!
Well, I was in serious danger of losing the game, but fortunately I dragged the board and all the pieces down with me!
Cunning eh?
Arrers, one of my daughters is also an accident looking for somewhere to happen. At the age of 4 she managed to get into a car parked on our hilly drive, release the hand-brake and enjoy a ride through several neighbours’ fences and gardens. Quite unhurt and smiling.
It’s amazing how these things work out, Janus, thankfully!
When I hit the oil tanker, which was parked by the way in the petrol station forecourt, I had steam pouring out of the car, because the garage had replaced the thermostat with the wrong sort, I had problems with one of my contact lenses and I completely misjudged the gap!
Clang!
Thoroughly fed up, I drove the wreck in a homewards direction, blew the head gasket half a mile from home, and sort of mangled the engine. It was not worth repairing apparently. My husband was not amused.
Double crikey, Janus
Sometimes survival instinct is just that, survival.
When I was quite young I was the accidental witness to an attempted murder, absolutely nothing to do with me! Notwithstanding, I was the victim of an attempt to eliminate me as a witness and from the face of the earth. I survived and found it politic to move and change my name. I never trusted the police, just slid off the face of the earth very quietly.
I have been in two big commercial fires, a hotel in Memphis, from which I escaped stark naked in a fur coat with my pockets stuffed with jewellery and papers. You should have seen some of the other escapees. At least they opened a satellite bar and broke open a uniform store to clothe us!
The other was a hospital fire, I was busy having a miscarriage at the time but was off that gurney faster than you could say knife, bit of a mess on the lawn but that’s life and death as it happens!
There was a rather nasty incident with a C30 on fire too.
Never had a car crash, have been run into on occasion.
Fortunately, I have very fast reactions, never stop scanning, ever. Never take a hotel room above the 4th floor, always check fire exits, always hear cars gunning. nearly always carry a tin of mace, (have used it once). I don’t actually think it is neurotic to be hyper aware of your surroundings especially with these bloody terrorists nowadays.
I do admit to checking the seismic plots of the North Cascade range regularly to see the minor quakes, patterns emerge that definitely foretell happenings and events and as we are in the path of nuees ardentees I’m not hanging around to be fried!
I rather like the dangerous chess game! I shall have to watch my knitting needles!
It pays to be vigilant and trust your own judgements.
Sounds as though you have lived in some very interesting times, Christina.
You certainly should watch those knitting needles… I was knitting on four needles one time when the telephone rang. I leapt to my feet, dropping one of the needles which stuck upright in the carpet… I misplaced my foot and the force of my leg going down pushed the needle (about eight inches of it) into my leg. Needless to say I said “Oh Dear” (or something vaguely the equivalent!). What amazed me, and still does, is that the needle ran up my leg not through it. It was the devil’s own job to pull it out – and that was the end of it. Virtually no blood – just a dull ache for a few hours.
You were lucky it didn’t cause more damage, Boa.
Don’t I know it, Pseu! I’ve always assumed that the needle ran up my shin bone, but I am so abysmally ignorant of anatomy that I’m probably wrong.
I had an accident like Boa’s too. In tank turret, as in any environment where there is machinery that could be dangerous but must, nevertheless, be worked with, there is a place for everything and everything is in its place when not in use. In particular, the loader has a little open-topped box near where he stands containing a screwdriver, a pair of pliers and, in a Chieftain, a tool whose technical name is the-whatsisname-for-unlocking-the-charge-bin-lids. This particular day was raining and as I jumped down into the turret, my foot slipped off the guard-rail, whose purpose is to stop the loader getting caught up in random bits of machinery when the turret turns, and I fell towards the bottom of the turret. My hand caught the screwdriver in it’s little box – point down, of course – knocked it out and it fell to the floor where it hit, point up, just as my hand came down and tried to hit exactly the same piece of floor. The screwdriver was driven through my hand between the base of my thumb and the other fleshy bit, fortunately missing tendons etc. Not too painful, surprisingly and it got me a night in a warm, dry dressing station, so a bit of a win, all in all 🙂
Blimey, what a catalogue of disasters, Christina, but you are still here, which is quite remarkable judging by the various attempts to eliminate you.
Absolutely necessary to be alert, and trust one’s instincts and judgement, although there are a remarkable number of people who seem to muddle through, completely oblivious of any danger.
Double ouch, Boadicea, and Bravo.
I’ll add knitting and travelling in tanks to the list of painful pastimes!
I am flabbergasted by the knitting story boa, sounds quite horrible. Surprised it hasn’t happened here, trying to knit with two jack russells on one’s lap is quite sufficiently difficult as it is!
Actually, impaling is quite awful, sends shudders down the spine makes one think of those dreadful Mediaeval tortures. Something hideously atavistic about it.
I have always wondered about the zealots burnt at the stake, I should have recanted very hastily!
The thought of being burnt alive for a mere type of Christianity always struck me as beyond irrationality. (Or any religion for that matter)
There is a great deal of difference between a fast reaction with plenty of adrenaline to a quickly moving event/attack and sitting in a dungeon contemplating being burnt alive next week!
I don’t actually think you would do the half of things that you do in the heat of the moment if you had the leisure to consider them. Trouble is at the time, consideration and inaction generally buys you a wooden overcoat!
I can’t help wondering how many people sat at their desks doing nothing very much whilst they could have escaped from the twin towers. I have noticed people who go into the frozen rabbit mode when the shit hits the fan, quite unable to react, think or do anything very much.
Perhaps some are too far away genetically from their own ancestors, fight or flight no longer seems to work as it should.