I am not a sporting person. Like a comedy comic strip character I think I've probably exerted more energy conniving ways to get out of participating in sporting events than I would have had I actually taken part.
However, for this Throwback Thursday (with the accident-prone Winter Olympics in full-flow), my thoughts turned to the story behind one of my oldest scars, a small, but lasting, slash across my wrist that you can - hopefully - pick out in the picture above.
Back during my three years at Yardley Court prep school, in Tonbridge, there was a changing room in the basement of the old house that served as the main building for the school.
In the centre of the changing room was a table tennis table, where - as well as straight-forward table tennis - we used to play 'round the table'.
Basically a normal game of table tennis, but played by a group of us (probably about six boys) and once you'd hit the ball you'd run round to the other side of the table.
I can't remember exactly how many of us were playing that day, but I'd just hit the ball and started running when I slid/tripped over the wood panel covering a footbath set into the changing room floor. As I fell my wrist caught a screw sticking out from the table's leg and it slashed my wrist.
I was helped to the school nurses' office (matron), where they bandaged my cut.
Seeing the blood pumping from my wrist, I got stars in front of my eyes - a new experience at the time (little did I realise that a few decades later that would become a regular occurrence) and I sank down onto the bed where they were treating me.
Obviously, given the cut's location, it could have been a lot worse, but as it was it's just become an amusing anecdote about how I got my sporting injury... playing table tennis!