Monday, 13 April 2009


Have you seen it?  Have you seen the report just issued by RoSPA which reveals the most popular accidents for 2007?  Why has it taken them so long, and why do they simply advocate "common sense" rather than telling everyone to sit still and not touch a fucking thing.  I give the figures below, unadorned, with no hilarious commentary to accompany it.  

Trainers 71 309
Secateurs 27 104
Baking trays 19 751
Rope ladders 16 822
Nail scissors 14 535
Tights 12 003
Cardboard boxes 10 492
Frankfurters 10 020
Bathmats  9  917
Diving boards  8  795
Cotton buds  8  751
Bus passes  8  623
Trousers  8  455
Hamsters/gerbils  8  297
Twigs  8  193
Mouthwash  7  532
Piccalilli  6  621
Swords  5  780
Irish coffee  3  917
Aromatherapy  1  301
Pigs  1  o70
Kilts      894
Loofahs & sponges      763
Sambuca      599
Flutes      463
Butter      377

Just a few things jump out.  Firstly, how are trousers so much more dangerous than kilts? Secondly, what's the deal with piccalilli?  How is Branston (for example) safer?  Or PanYan? And lastly, look at swords! Surely, surely dangerous?  So how are they languishing down there with pigs and mouthwash?  And what's going on with the huge gap between trainers and secateurs?  There must be SOMETHING in between, even if it's just Socimi 821s and cyanide.

Mind how you go.


  1. How can a bus pass cause an accident? Were there any examples to go with this list?
    I think they missed out kettles. And ironing boards and irons should surely feature; I mean if you don't have a ladder then you stand on the ironing board, don't you?

  2. Scarls, so MUCH is left out, don't you think? I mean, cock rings, for example. They were flying off the shelves at Tesco last week. Accidents waiting to happen, I tell ya. And lube! Slippery. Or could be mistaken in the dark for a missing skittle, or a shoe-tree. Think of the consequences!

  3. This appears to be a list of things that have been BLAMED for causing accidents. Is there any case for appeal, have they been wrongly accused, has the person actually caused the accident and then sought refuge in blaming their kilt?

  4. Wendy, as usual you raise the ballpein hammer above your head and bring it down with boy-scout accuracy. Yes, I think people have accidents of such appalling stupidity that they immediately cast around for a scapegoat, and come up with a pig, or a jar of piccalilli. The temptation must be overwhelming. (Nice to see you btw. Scarls says lunch, and when would be good for you?)

  5. There's not so much to worry about, after all. A lot of these are what we in the safety and security industry like to call "double counts". As in shredding your tights with nail scissors while you're wearing them. Hiding gerbils in your trousers. Lopping off the top of the piccalilli jar with a sword. Putting your back out while you're boinking your trainer at the club on the diving board.

    See? It's not nearly as worrisome as you've imagined.

  6. I've got no beef with baking trays, but bathmats are an effing menace, end of. I've come a cropper many a time on those bastards.

    I've had one or two mishaps with Sambuca too, occupational hazard.

  7. 71,000 getting done over by trainers? What as in kicked by somebody else do you reckon?

  8. Our lunatic chemistry teacher, who quite happily had us sniffing various nitrogenous aromatics without the use of a safety net, was quite firm about the dangers of piccalilli: "Wear gloves, wash your hands and keep it within the confines of the other chap's plate."
    How true those words are, even today.

  9. Most trousers have zips, Mrs Maroon. Hah, I typed Mrs Maroon! Honest mistake, I've just left a comment on Dr Maroon's blog. God bless you, Mrs P, when we we going to see your dainty feet?

  10. Kilts - and I have two - are easier to get into when you have had more than just the one. It's so easy to fall over when putting your pins in trews. Or so I have found.

  11. The statistics look as if they have not been adjusted to remove Capt Scot "Scotty" Scott, late of the Bengal Engineers, who was frequently admitted to field hospitals around Calcutta having suffered injuries consistent with the abuse of all of the above "simultaeneously and at the same time", as we say in Wales.

  12. I maintain that it's not Trousers, Sponges and Piccalilli which are the problem per se but the people which use them.

  13. Kilts.. if you ever sat down on a sun warmed plastic chair, with nothing between you and seat, by crikey you'd understand.

  14. I'd be interested to know the exact breakdown in the Hamster/Gerbil category. There are two types of people on Earth. Those who enjoy a good gerbiling every now and then, and those who would say, "not-so-much".

    I would also add that based on numerous reports from my many friends who labour in the Emergency Room, that 99.9% of all Frankfurtering, Cucumbering and Zucchining incidents are alcohol related.

    We live in a dangerous world.

  15. I remember reading that home is the most dangerous place and shopping is the safest activity of all.
    One must remember not to buy any picallili.

  16. Mrs P, I have an award for you. Noblesse Oblige, whatever...

  17. I'm intrigued by the specific nature of Irish coffee. I assume that other forms of coffee are entirely safe and may be consumed by ladies without fear of internal or external injury?

  18. Secatuers - I've heard of a similar "bizarre gardening accident" in a rockumentary, but drummers always go over the top and actually kill themselves.

    Oh, and because of the ongoing party mood catch-up thingy...I was sent here by MJ from Infomaniac.

  19. Right, I'm back.
    Now then, Expateek velcome, velcome indeed, and how nice to have a true professional call by, instead of these well-meaning amateurs who clutter the place up. However, I am not worried by these domestic accidents, as I have drudges for this sort of work. I simply can't remember the last time I had anything to do with a twig or a baking tray.

    Emerson, you bring on my vapours. I see you in a huge sunken bath, steam rising as a haze designed to disguise your pulchritude. In one hand you hold a battered aluminium mug of Sambuca; in the other a threadbare bathmat marked Hotel Barnsley. Suddenly, you trip over a discarded flute, or maybe a pig rushes by causing mayhem. Whatevs, you land at my feet just as I am impaling a Frankfurter on a sword etc etc. In another fantasy, you appear in a kilt and produce a loofah from nowhere; I slowly descend a rope ladder with half a pound of Lurpak in my hand etc etc. God bless RoSPA.

    Kevin, you went to the right sort of school: one which treated condiments with respect and fear. I am afraid this sort of approach is lost on today's young; they have been mollycoddled with pesto and sun-dried potatoes, and we reap a bitter harvest.

    Dear GB, I can scarce imagine anything viler than being poor Mrs Maroon! The unfortunate bearer of that name lives a life of unparalleled ennui, whilst the doctor runs riot with loose women and strong drink. Appallling. My feet will appear when Miss Scarlet deigns to talk me through removing my current avatar and replacing it with what I can only call a podiatrist's dream.

    Hello Pat! I find kilts very easy to get in to. I could make a remarkably coarse allusion here, but I won't. Maybe next week.

    Boyo, the figures do include Pigsticking in the Punjab and (of course!) Bengal Bathmat fatalities. But, you are right: certain adjustments should've been made. Piccalilli, for example, is far more popular in Pakistan.

    Gadjo, a sturdy lump of common sense from the Voice of Reason! Of course, the consumer is to blame, but how can we legislate for the sort of misuse you suspect? I would like to see twigs banned, for example. All gerbils to be kept on tiny corduroy leashes. Loofahs should be suspended from bathroom ceilings on elasticated ropes.
    Mouthwash should never be kept in bottles labelled Enema Liquid. Pigs should wear suits of armour. Flutes should be three times the current size and not held sideways. Butter should be licenced. A manifesto if ever I saw one!

    Dear Mr Jimmy. Are you suggesting that you wear nothing under your kilt? In that case, I will be supine under a sun-warmed chair and await your arrival. Scarlet will be with me holding the Polaroid. We will apply a sepia tint and RoSPA can slap the image on the front of next year's dossier.

  20. Scarlet, no, you've lost me again. What on earth are you babbling about? Please don't tell me that you're shedding your human form, and have chosen me as your next host on this earth? Please God, no.

  21. Splutter!! No I've given you an award!!! Everyone [even Mr Boyo!!! :o)] has turned up except you!!! I have now rolled out the red carpet for your arrival.
    I'll mail avatar instructions tomorrow.

  22. Hello, Kaz, some homes are dangerous; mine is not. Your home may be ludicrously understaffed, for example. It is important to keep as many old retainers as possible for drudgery (taking lids off pickle jars a key reference here) and you will never trouble A&E.

    Madame D, yes the Irish Coffee entry puzzled me, too. However, enquiries reveal that it is the floating-cream procedure that results in injury. Some insist on the heated spoon technique, for example, which has caused some grandmothers to be branded like cattle.

    Mr Coppens, the hamster/gerbil conundrum is as old as time. Older, actually. I could reference R. Gere here, but won't. What is particularly interesting is that MORE accidents are caused by gerbils than hamsters. RoSPA say that this is because the gerbil appears to be more trustworthy; it has a characteristically avuncular smile, and a pretty way with housemaids. As a result, households are lulled into believing that nothing bad could happen with a gerbil around - but we all know the real story, don't we?

    Istvanski, I couldn't be more delighted to see you here! Bizarre gardening accidents are a dime a dozen in the Thames Valley, I can tell you. Bizarre baking incidents are not unknown, either. However, I am agog for details of pig-related brouhaha and what exactly went wrong with butter? I can make a guess at the rest. Cx

    Oh, and Scarlet. Bus passes: an old woman proffered her B.P. in John Lewis today instead of her credit card. The assistant was too hasty handing it back and it went into the poor dotard's thumb quite painfully. I was absolutely delighted to see such a wonderful example, and so promptly, too.

  23. Scarlet, what award? Turned up where? I see that you are using recognisable words, but I am unable to discern their meaning. I am going to retire for the night now (with three codeine and the Eunuch of Stamboul, as per). Try to speak in God's plain English by tomorrow, if you can.

  24. Ooerr, that's certainly the first time I've ever been called The Voice of Reason and it doesn't sit entirely comfortably, though I thank you kindly :-)

    And bus passes should be kept in secure plastic folders where they can't.... oh, right, they already are.

  25. Mrs Pouncer, you have a certain knack with the English language that would have made even the foppish chappy from Stratford-Upon-Avon smile.

    The Scotia Bar is indeed missing out on such a well fitting patron.

  26. If you turn up at my place then you'll find out! Or have you gone all bashful?

  27. Gadj, bus passes ARE kept in handy plastic wallets, but in my Safety Guidelines for the Common Man (& Woman)* it is recommended that the wallet is then secured with a a length of elastic which is fed down the sleeve, across the shoulder blades, exiting via the opposite cuff, where it is held in a patented mitten. Barcoded.

    James darling! You are too, too kind. The Scotia Bar expects my presence this very weekend! The patrons are already girding their loins, and mine host has equipped himself with a BRAND NEW set of vowels.

    Scarlet, what is this? It all seems a bit tawdry. Also, I don't do linking. And as for Boyo! You know how fickle that boy is. He will get huffy and send it back over some imagined slight. Mark my words.

  28. Lists like this usually come with solemn warnings about blood alcohol. Blood alcohol is made by fermenting black pudding; from your suppression of this, I deduce that you, Mrs P, are a Lancasheer lass who wishes to conceal the fact.

  29. Inky - this well-favoured Lanky beverage is best used as the base of a cocktail - the Wiggin Chancer - made up of two parts blood alcohol to one part Tizer, served in a glass rimmed with carpet fluff and decorated with a picked egg on a stick.

  30. Inky and Kevin, quite the little double act, entcha? But hardly Holmes 'n Watson: I came out this week on Kaz's delightful blog, so I can only assume that you read it there. You're wrong about my accent though, Inky. I sound as if I've never left Guildford. Thanks for blowing my cover, you gits.

  31. Sorry, kid, it was the Merseybeat wig that gave it away.

  32. Amusant. Tres.
    Do you know who I miss, Kev? Barry. Barry Teeth. Where is he? We all loved him so much, and he was kind to me. And his brother Keith, too. And ill-favoured Deb, the sister in law. Was I alone in imagining the Grundies when I thought of them? I don't think so.
    And while we're on the subject, where is Gyppo? Monkeying around with his gamelan somewhere sultry, I'll be bound, but he coulda said. And why is Inky so terse? What's the matter with everyone? And why hasn't that gorgeous Welsh mountainboy who talked to me about cock rings come back? Oh I could cry salty tears, truly I could.

  33. The Irish Coffee injuries come about simply by asking for the concoction in certain establishments. I have been witness to such.

  34. Mrs P., I have such a propensity for losing things that I once consider attaching everything I own on a length of elastic threaded through my duffel coat sleeves.

    I miss Barry too, no idea where he is, maybe his computer's been repossessed, or maybe he's girding his scruttocks for the Cambridgeshire beet harvest.

  35. Coastal poker features a number of people who could be B. Teeth. I shall institute enquiries.

    Mrs P, I knew you were Liverpool born. To my mortification, I have only just discovered that Liverpool is in Lancashire. Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. I'd thought that failed ship-building, dishonesty and Scouse were incompatible with cheese, cricket and black pudding. No doubt this makes me even more of a git. (And what is a git, anyway? nothing good, obviously, but can you be precise?)

  36. Pouncer - Flutes, loofahs, frankfurters and Lurpak? Now you're talking!

  37. Honestly woman, you talk as if coming from Lancashire (just) is something to be ashamed of.

  38. Mapstew, you are right. In my view, it is the vulgarian's choice, and anyone calling for it in a public place SHOULD be branded.

    Gadj, it is hallucinatory. As I was typing my elastic suggestion, I had YOU in mind. I visualise a sort of Paddington Bear-type coat (big easily-manipulated buttons, commodious collar, possibly bright blue velour) for you. I don't know why I infantalise you in this way, but you are something of an enabler, do admit. And as for Barry, well, I hear he's done well. He's been seen a-wandering and a-roaming and a-gypsying-oh, and a droiving of his Continental Bentley-oh.

    Kevin and Inky, once again I have to treat you as a combo. Where on earth did you think Liverpool was, Inky? And anyhoo, I prefer to think of myself as Liverpolitan, rather than Liverpudlian. Scouse is one of the classics among German sailors' fare (gherkins and bayleaves a key reference here) and my home city is infused with a schlamperei that never leaves its absent sons and daughters. Donizetti wrote an opera called Emilia di Liverpool and my eldest daughter lived in a house once owned by Alois Hitler. My dear old grandfather never lost his Hamburg accent, but spoke in the vernacular. He once received a summons (don't ask): "I gorra blue paper wid a duck on".*

    Emerson dahling, talking? No time for talking!

    *The Liver Bird, Liverpool's emblem, appears on all official documents.

  39. Er, I think I thought Liverpool was in, um, Liverpool, a semi-detached piece of the UK. I knew it was only semi-detached because I've taken a train there. The amount of rubbish in the streets was impressive and a fight broke out in the restaurant we went to. To be frank, the whole place needs a re-think. How about re-naming it Hepatopolis as a start?

  40. Lunch, yes, LUNCH. Defintiely. I now have an outrageously-cute car for the express purpose of meeting you ladies at places not normlly reached by former mode of public transport.

    I'm shocked that the list only included one gardening implement (which I've disposed of, just incase) and that hamsters rated higher than cats who didn't appear at all. Cats can strategically cause accidents, maybe their strategy excluded them.