Now that I’m twelve looking back four years, although it wasn’t as “adventurous” life was a lot easier. Anyway, when I was eight, I lived up north and just five minutes away from a park. At that time I was a lot “goofier”, about the average size for an eight-year-old and a bit skinnier the I am now. The Local Park that I was near was a cross between a nature resort and loads of racing tracks and football pitches put together. When I was eight In our family (this was my dad, my mum and I) it was a tradition that each time, after dinner we would go for a gentle stroll in the park.

We finished diner around seven and the walk lasted an hour and a half. One day, most likely to be Sunday I had a friend round named David and we took him down to the park. My parents would have their weekly walk while me and Dave would play Football and ride our bikes. The park had many entrances; to get into the park itself it took a five-minute walk. We rode our bikes into the park with him in the lead. Personally, I thought I was a competitive child when I was eight and still I’m now.

Anyway, the ground was slippery just like any other nature park; I decided to catch up with him just for the sake e of boosting. Unfortunately the place where I had chosen to accelerate was an extremely wet patch and my bike lost complete traction with me falling on the ground headfirst. Luckily or more to the point unluckily I managed to get my hands out to support my weight but the sheer force of the fall broke my arm. (According to my mum now I had not cried amazingly and it was obvious thst my arm was broken as it was literally “bent”.

When they saw my arm my parents practically threw me on to the back seat of the car and sped to the nearest hospital ; the doctors suprisingly saw to my arm rather quickly. The consequences of my broken arm were twenty-eight days and twenty-eight nights of complete torture with my fully plastered arm. It was complete agony as it itched madly. When I had recovered, it was a great relief. Although I had injury my arm I had still gone round David’s house weekly- it was turning out to be a tradition. When the doctors had removed the plaster and I was fully fit I was invited round Dave’s house for lunch.

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When Lunch had finished we decided to go down to the local park (this is still the one where I had broken my arm). To be honest I don’t really remember what we did in the park except from the climbing frame section. David had always been a greet climber and as I said I liked competing so I climbed after him. The climbing frame was diagonal with it highest point reaching about two and a half metres and with my luck I fell of at the highest point braking my left arm again at exactly the same point. Talk about da ja vu!

When I had arrived at the hospital I was greeted by a nurse saying “not you again”. Although it was not visibly possible to see that my arm was broken it was obvious to doctors. This meant more five-week s of pure torture with every second of them burning with itchiness. From then on, I had promised myself never to be such an idiot again and let my arm support all my weight when I fell. From one’s own viewpoint I thought I escaped quite a few casualties by following this method especially when I half rolled/half fell ten metres on the Great Wall.


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