Yes.

Y'see, we'd been in our house only a few weeks, and there were HEAPS of jobs to do. So, every night I'd come home and do a few chores before dinner. This one night (back at band camp), I headed out to the gargre to get a mastic gun and some other tools. Owing to the gargre having two stupid narrow doors, to get my bike in I had to park the Wankermobile (Pajero) up against the back of the gargre, to leave room behind it to manouevre the bike past. So anyway, I took a shortcut across the front bumper bar to get the tools. On the way back, concentrating on not dropping anything, my socky foot slipped off the bumper.
Uh-oh...
Faceplant into doorframe and concrete.
Ouchie.
I looked at my business shirt, now covered in blood.
Uh-oh... that's not good.
Stagger inside.
The vifferbabe sees blood on shirt: "What have you done to your arm?"
"Um... nothing... look at my face..."

"Oh shit!!"
Cue vifferman collapsing on floor.
The vifferbabe thought I'd died, so took the advantage to give me a beating for leaving her a widow...

Then I revived ("He's alive! He's A-LIIIIIIVE!!!"), and we went to A&E.
Youngest sprog goes very white, throws up all over inside of car.
Yet another thing for the vifferbabe to do when we (eventually) returned home...
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