I was about 8 years old I suppose, my little brother 5 years old when the 'Truck Incident' occurred. Father Christmas had read my letter and delivered a 'Tonka' truck (a small metal replica of a dumper truck) that year and I had spent months playing with it. By summer, it had lost it's appeal for me and so, finally, my little brother was allowed to play with it. Off he went with his "Brrrrrring, beep beep beep" sounds and we were both happy.
So, one particularly fine day, I was lying on a neighbours lawn, contemplating the sky and wondering what the few clouds in the sky might represent - hmm, was that a dragon? or maybe a castle in the sky...
"Ouch" I shouted, rather loudly and attempted to jump up and attack my assailant. Unfortunately, the blow to my head had been rather harder than I realised and upon standing I immediately sat back down like a pissed giraffe. Meanwhile, my little brother, the propulsion behind the metallic toy, had seen the blood, was ready to get his arse kicked but now, seeing blood and his older brother falling around, panicked. He ran home screaming as I attempted to follow in a wobbly fashion.
He got there first and ran in through the door screaming "Mum, Mum, S has been hit by a truck !!". This obviously caused our mother some alarm and she started to panic.
As he had run to the back door, I had staggerred to the front door. Finding no answer but leaving a none too healthy pool of blood on the doorstep I figured that I had to go around to the back.
Thus began the Tango of Confusion. I wobbled around to the back, my mother came through to the front having been informed that her son had been hit by a truck, and almost had a heart attack on seeing the pool of blood on the doorstep. I meanwhile had deposited another puddle of blood on the back doorstep and had set off bravely (holding onto the wall) back to the front. She ran back into the house and called the police, ambulance and probably goth rescue brigades.
Soon enough, I was on my way to hospital, stiched, fixed and wrapped in a loving mothers arms.
Moral of the story? - there is none...it just happened.