Well, it had to happen sooner or later in this job. Dude fresh out of chokey blags his way into one of our projects with a friendly tennant, makes use of our bogs then pulls a whitey and leaves his works in the khazi, stumbles into his new friend's room and takes a dive, bursting his skull open, gushing globs of claret everywhere and turning purple, then white, then a kind of blue-black colour. We sorted him out and got him shifted and that, but he wasn't long for this world had people not been on hand. Had I not been so pissed off with him (I was trying to asssemble a bed when it all kicked off) it might not have taken hours to dawn on me that I'd just been instrumental in saving someone else's life. I always new there'd be some point in my life where I get to do that sort of thing, after all some people do it every day, but I never realised when the opportunity came along I'd find it so inconvenient and irksome.
Still, that's only one in three months and I can live with it being a quarterly occurance.
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