Vignettes of pain and lucky escapes

Here are some fun facts about me and my life:
I am 35, and I am a lucky bastard.
I managed never to become a junky, unlike a good few of my friends.
I lived in Holland for six years. One Friday night I headed into Amsterdam on my own. When I returned to the house, my friends started to press me on what the fuck I had been doing. I told them it was only Sunday evening. They informed me it was in fact Tuesday evening. To this day I have no idea what the fuck I could have been doing.
I was given a good going over by a couple of gangsters with baseball bats, and escaped with bruised ribs.
I've met Martin Sheen, and kissed Macy Gray (on the cheek).
I once had to talk to a pig outside a rave with 2 E's sizzling on the back of my tongue.
After a flight from Thailand, copious amounts of red wine and 2 valium, I fell down a 25-step marble staircase in my house, splatting the crown of my head at the bottom. I needed only 4 stitches on my pate.
My alcoholic father once threw me, a three year old, into a bed of nettles.
I worked in the best restaurant on a Thai island.
I was skateboarding on a winter's night in a deserted carpark in Holland. Trying to do a 180, I slammed and cracked my head. I don't know how long I was out. I didn't sleep that night to make sure my brain wasn't bleeding. Motto: don't go skate on your own, especially if you are shite.
I got a tattoo in Barcelona from I guy who was drunker than I was.
I cried when I stood in front of La Sagrada de Familia. Gaudi rules.
I have run naked around a monument in the middle of a major roundabout in E.Asia. It was for a bet.
Another head trauma: as an 11 year-old, I ran, full pelt, into a telegraph pole, which had been placed inconveniently in the middle of our footy pitch in the local park. This time I know how long I was out - 15 minutes. After I bounced off the pole, I stood up, said, "Jesus Christ, help me", before promptly collapsing.
Playing rugby at secondary school got tackled by a big bastard called Nigel. His ear was right next to my left collar-bone when it snapped clean in two. He puked.
Having split-up with a woman in Holland, I underestimated Dutch ire. I opened the door after the bell had rung, in an unguarded moment. She instantly booted me in the nuts, bringing me to my knees. She finished me off with a flourish - a meaty wack to the jaw. I was down. She left.
There was period of about a year when the only E's around were called snowballs (early 90's). If you stayed up for 3-4 days caning them, some serious mind-shit would go down. Minutes long conversations believing you were a tv producer, in my case. (I worked on a potato farm at the time). For my friends; recording label executive, professional snooker player, and gardener.
Around the same time, on a Monday afternoon (after kicking off the previous Thursday), a group of about eight people sat in my apartment staring at the TV. It was after about twenty minutes that someone realized it wasn't turned on.
A poem I wrote is on a plaque next to an ancient Welsh burial site.
My gold Claddagh ring once prevented my finger from being severed.
I was famous for being able to make tea for twenty people while utterly mashed up.
Six years in Holland smoking skunk will fuck you up.
One of my favorite phrases is, 'That cunt's a prick'.
Only one person knows I've created this blog. Hope this makes her laugh, or something.
Sirrah!