I remember as a small child falling in the school playground. I was around seven years old. I can still recall it vividly and was convinced there was masses of blood pouring from my mouth (although it was probably just saliva).
My mates gathered round to check if I was OK. They also came to congratulate me. I'd fallen whilst scoring a goal for my team – a rare feat on my part. Then one of the lunch time supervisors (although this was the early 1970s, so we called them dinner ladies) came over to see what the commotion was about.
She assessed the damage and reassuringly and confidently declared ‘You're OK.’
My crying, which was so intense it even made my shoulders shake, became more subdued.
‘I hear you scored for ...