I was a clumsy child. I’m sure that’s no big revelation. I was continually breaking things, including my own bones.
One time it was because my dad bought a rowing machine and, not having a clue what this contraption was when I stumbled upon it in the garage, I assumed it was some kind of futuristic hoverboard. Only it did not hover. It went zooming from underneath my feet at the speed of light and I broke my arm on the concrete garage floor. OW.
Another time – and bless her dogged optimism – my mum signed me up for a ‘Chinese Circus Skills Workshop’ for half term. On the very first day – I think this was before Health & Safety came into fashion – my feet were strapped to some wooden stilts and – not being a Chinese circus entertainer by trade – I fell forward like a felled tree (TIMBER!) and broke my arm again.
Aged seven I started a new school half way through the academic year. On April Fools’ Day morning, still a newbie wanting to make friends, I decided that I needed to wow my class with a prank. My parents helped me glue one of my old arm casts back on and attach a sling round my neck and I went into school – as a future drama student in training – hamming up my injury like I was auditioning for Casualty.
Posed by an arm model
As we all know, any injury that occurs during your Junior School career big enough to produce blood or breakages gives you an automatic pass to be ‘Most Popular Kid in the Whole Class’ for the day. I had my classmates fighting over who got to sign my cast and, ignoring all European Union April Fools’ Day laws, I continued my scam well past the designated “Fooled ya!” midday cut off point.
I got out of ALL my school work, ALL day. I was a seven year-old April Fool BOSS.