tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6496460488742488789.post5221403582353606629..comments2024-03-18T10:29:46.055+00:00Comments on Ken Armstrong Writing Stuff: The Fault in Our ScarsKen Armstronghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07775956557261111127noreply@blogger.comBlogger3125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6496460488742488789.post-32709957395484173542014-11-22T11:31:53.681+00:002014-11-22T11:31:53.681+00:00Oh, Ken, that took my right back to the day my the...Oh, Ken, that took my right back to the day my then 10 year old son tried to punch his brother through the glass living room door (little square windows of old non safety glass..). He made mistake 2 too and we ended up in A&E. He is 19 now and still has the scars and I still have the guilt of not replacing that door even though we had 2 boys that spent half their lives fighting. The films of the day were likely Toy Story or some-such!InvisibleWomanhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16405063925803245217noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6496460488742488789.post-1763439409592656392014-11-17T19:23:05.232+00:002014-11-17T19:23:05.232+00:00We both have scars on our wrist, are ruggedly hand...We both have scars on our wrist, are ruggedly handsome, and write like the cat's pajamas. <br /><br />It's uncanny. :)Ken Armstronghttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07775956557261111127noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6496460488742488789.post-80593371561406364642014-11-16T14:10:29.119+00:002014-11-16T14:10:29.119+00:00I also have a scar on my wrist and this was one se...I also have a scar on my wrist and this was one self-inflicted. Unfortunately I have no benchmarks to say when this was and you know how bad my memory is but my best guess would be about 1970. I woke up one morning with a sharp pain to discover I was bleeding from my left wrist. Now unless someone had sneaked into my bedroom in the right—you have to watch those little brothers like hawks you know—the only explanation I can come up with is that I somehow dug a nail into my own wrist with enough force to leave a one inch scar. Never heard anything like that before.<br /><br />I have three distinct memories concerning caravanning and I suspect my very earliest memory concerns one. Apparently my mother and father rented a caravan sometime in the early sixties and I can remember me by the tow bar fascinated (or possibly terrified) by a number of farm animals; ducks, hens and geese I expect. The second was not long after the birth of my own daughter. My first wife and I took a weekend break with one of her sisters and her husband who’d also just had a wee girl. I have a clear memory of taking my daughter out for a walk on my own at one point and wandering down this pleasant country lane with her. I also played Pac-Man—the proper Pac-Man—for the first (and only) time then and as the game came out in October 1980 and my daughter was born in July 1980 I guess this must’ve been the summer of 1981. The third memory was of a trip to St. Andrews a couple of years later with a guy I thought was my best friend; his parents owned it. By this time the marriage was falling apart and for some daft reason this was part of an effort to save it. Didn’t work. They’re still together. Nuff said.<br /><br />I’ve never seen <i>The Blues Brothers</i>. I have tried. Twice at the very least but I think I’ve actually sat down to watch the film three times and never got past the scene in the church with James Brown. I have no idea why but I’ve just never been able to get into it. Not many films on that list. <i>Moulin Rouge</i> was another and <i>Head</i> by The Monkees even though I’m a huge fan. Never actually walked out of a cinema after paying hard cash to watch something. Only that may not be true. I have the vaguest memory of my sister objecting to something—I think it might’ve been the original version of <i>The Hitcher</i> (Rutger Hauer at his menacing best even if the script was a bit meh)—but I know I’ve seen the whole film and so I’m not sure what I’m mixing up in my head.Jim Murdochhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12786388638146471193noreply@blogger.com