Hmmm, I love this kind of thing in real life, simply because I have so many odd stories that almost fit... It's very tempting to do a 3 false stories, one true story sort of thing (Which I usually win because no one believes I would throw my sister from a 3 story roof into a garden) but that might involve flagging as I would at that stage definately be telling you which of the options I had selected (ie neither).

Anyway, THIS is my scar (or rather the biggest of my scars) -



It's a little hard to see (which is why I circled it in pen in the second picture), and it's on my leg, just above my right knee -



Anyway, when I was a young boy (actually, until I started high school), I went to brownies. For those of you not in the commonwealth, "Brownies" is the version of girl scouts for girls of primary school age (below primary school is "Pippins", junior high and over is "Guides", and after graduating high school is "Rangers"). The name "Brownies refers both to the mythological creatures, and also to the brown dresses worn by brownies. There's lots of stuff to do with fairies and toadstools, and the head adult helper is called "Brown Owl".

Now, it just so happened that my grandmother was Brown Owl for the area (and later the head of brownies for the whole South Island), so, despite being a boy, I was allowed to attend. I didn't have to wear the dress, and I was a Boggart rather than a brownie (for reasons of temprament as much as anything), but otherwise...

Anyway, one day I was at brownies, which was being held at my grandmothers house. The meeting itself went well, and afterwards we were all playing outside while our mothers ate afternoon tea. We were playing go home stay home (A combination of hide and go seek and tag for those who've never played) and I was one of the children who were "it". I was looking for people in the shed, when I found one of the old oil cans with the pump and the long nozzle, and started playing with it.

Now, my nickname when I was a child was "Mr Destructo" - for good reason. Upon finding the oil can I immediately decided that it would be fun to chase the other brownies with - And it was. They fled, screaming, in a gratifying manner. Finally, several of them hid in one of their mother's cars. UNFORTUNATELY, they had left the window down a crack, and the oil can had a narrow nozzle, so I put it in the window, and coated them and the inside of the car with oil.

INCENSED brownies suddenly boiled from the car. One of them, throwing open the door, caught my leg with the sharp bottom corner of the car door, tearing both my pants, AND leg. I managed to escape them by swarming up a tree, and across to the roof of my house (which was next door). The brownies all ran off to tell their parents what I'd done.

Now, at this stage I knew I was in trouble. I climbed down from the roof, ran inside, and spent the next 6 hours sitting in the tiny gap between the back of the couch and the wall of our living room. My legs were under the couch, and there was JUST enough room for my head if I turned it sideways. I had to keep still and silent for the next 6 hours while my increasingly frantic parents, grandparents, and neighbors combed the surrounding countryside for me. When they finally found me (I fell asleep and started snoring), I got one hell of a hiding - Which I freely admit was deserved.

By this stage it was about 8 at night, so we had to drive me to the local doctor's house (small town, no hospital, clinic in a town 45 minutes away) and I got my stitches, without anesthetic, while sitting at his table. As I remember it they never really hurt, but I can still vividly remember the pulling sensation as the thread ran through.

I spent the next 3 weeks delighted with my wound, which I kept picking at to disgust my classmates. This made it scar quite a bit.

Anyway, that's the story of my scar.