A Catalogue of Breakages

Bottles and Crockery

ameliac — Sun, 09 Aug 2009 14:54:06 +0000

When I was living in Nottingham a few years ago I was living with two men. One of the men was our landlord and he was an interesting character. He would watch telly wearing a 1970s tennis player style wig with a sweatband. I came home one morning to find him sheepishly sweeping up many shards of crockery and glass. There were lots of large dints in the wall next to the kitchen door. He had gotten very drunk and threw a bottle of beer at the wall, for some reason. This had apparently started off in a jovial way and escalated. He ended up smashing all the beer bottles and all the crockery in the kitchen against the same bit of wall, as well as everything else breakable that he could find, including a lovely glass fruit bowel of mine.

He was so sheepish about it and sorry that he took me and my other housemate for a meal, during which he was very very quiet.

Neither of us resented it at all, rather, we were slightly bemused.

Kathryn Cooper

Car

ameliac — Tue, 28 Jul 2009 18:51:45 +0000

I left the scene of an accident. Foolish, illegal and naive – I know. Nobody was hurt. A car was simply damaged.

When negotiating the main street of my home village – at 18 years of age – driving my Dad’s car through a narrow passage for traffic, I hit an oncoming car’s side mirror. It was knocked off. Mine was fine; it was ‘spring loaded.’ The driver of said car waved his fist at me as I sped off, fortunately out of his capable viewing distance of my licence plate.

Plate

ameliac — Tue, 28 Jul 2009 07:51:48 +0000

I was visiting my wife – then partner’s – mother’s apartment in Hungary. The three of us were sharing dinner in the small kitchen. I offered to open a bottle of wine, which I did over the table. I lost my grip and the whole bottle landed squarely on my mother-in-law’s dinner, breaking the plate too. After apologising, we discovered that the broken plate had belonged to my wife when she was very young. The plate had a picture on it of Hansel and Gretel from the fairytale. I gathered up the shards of the plate and used them in a performance I made in Poland called: LET THERE BE NO ILL OMEN.

Glass pot

ameliac — Tue, 28 Jul 2009 07:48:46 +0000

When I was on holiday my housemate broke one of my gramdma’s glass pots that are engraved with her initials ‘F.B.’ – red glass with etched patterns in. I thought I would be more annoyed than I was. There is no use in not displaying nice and meaningful object ‘just in case’ they break. What’s the point in that?

Kristy Noble

Horse Place-holder

ameliac — Tue, 28 Jul 2009 07:40:02 +0000

I bought a white horse that was meant to hold place names on a dinner setting, from Habitat. It looked really great and felt really smooth. I thin it must have been made from resin (injection moulded – that sounds fast and efficient) but anyway, I had it on top of a set of shelves that were on my work table, which is precarious as it is and I knocked this and the horse feel off onto the table and one of its legs broke off. I had only just bought it so was a bit peeved. None of my housemates had superglue, so for ages it was balanced with its head in the top of an empty glass bottle of coke, because it couldn’t stand on three legs. This was stupid as this was probably just as precarious. I think I shall move the mentioned horse to a safer location when I get home.

Kristy Noble

ameliac — Sat, 11 Apr 2009 22:54:08 +0000

Busted Piece of Glass, 2007, Ed Ruscha

I am collecting stories about broken things. Have you ever broken something significant, or has someone else broken something important to you? Submit your story using the ‘Send me your stories‘ link on the top right.

To read other people’s stories scroll down or select from categories and tags on the right. Or go to ‘About‘ section to read more about the project and my work as an artist.

My great grandfather’s childhood blue tea set.

ameliac — Mon, 22 Sep 2008 07:59:17 +0000

Years ago my cousins and I (innocently) were playing with it and accidentally smashed some cups.

Absolutely terrified, we buried the pieces in the garden (my over active imagination remembers it being a thunder and lightening storm). The thought of four little girls madly digging up grandma’s rose patch with their bare hands seems quite comical now. But at the time I was shaking with fear in case we got caught out. Chilhood guilt is a really horrid feeling.

I mentioned it to my older cousin recently and she couldn’t even remember.

Never owned up to it either.

by Bryony Pritchard

World Record

ameliac — Tue, 26 Aug 2008 20:17:49 +0000

Spencers' Appendix

Growing up, we almost always had the latest copy of the Guinness Book Of Records in our house – I think my brother got the new edition every year on his birthday almost religiously. I never really had any interest in it, so it was particularly amusing that it should be me who ended up breaking a world record myself.

My partner and I were on a train from Leeds to London, ultimately headed to Heathrow and from there, New York, where our band were due to perform. I’d been experiencing mild stomach pain during the day, but put it down to a dodgy lunch. On the train journey it only got worse, leading to projectile vomiting into a large polystyrene catering tray. The train staff called through to the hospital in Stevenage, which was to be the next stop, and we were met there by an ambulance. The pain was gradually getting worse, and soon became excruciating; “I need painkillers!!!” became something of a mantra while the doctors tried to narrow down what the problem was. As it turned out, it was appendicitis, and soon after I was in surgery having my appendix removed. So impressed were the surgical team of my former body part’s length – 8.26 inches, a photo was taken alongside a ruler.

On informing work colleagues, one happened to check on the world record appendix length, only to discover mine had broken the current record by a good percentage. The following weeks were spent obtaining written proof from the surgeon, which, along with the photographic evidence was enough for Guinness to confirm I had indeed broken the world record for Largest Appendix Removed. Interviews with local and national press followed, and looking at the newspaper cuttings now it all seems incredibly bizarre (the innuendous Radio Leeds interview still makes my work colleagues chuckle – “What does your girlfriend think of its length?” etc etc). My 15 minutes of fame didn’t last too long – I didn’t even make it into the official book (although I did feature in a pocket-size Guinness Book of Weird Records) – as a chap in India broke the record again 6 months later. I hold no grudge….

By Spencer Bayles

Fractured Elbows

ameliac — Tue, 26 Aug 2008 20:12:34 +0000

When I was in the 6th form I tripped over the edge of a floor mat whilst walking down a corridor. It was break time so I felt a bit silly falling flat on my face in front of so many people. I got up, and although a little shaken I laughed off the fall saying I was fine. I had broken my fall with one of my arms, and although initially it seemed fine (just a bit of an ache) by the time I got home I couldn’t move my elbow at all and any attempt to move it even slightly caused me a lot of pain. It was suggested I should get it checked out, and I think it was dad who suggested I go to the GP first rather than going straight to the ER. I have no idea whether I went the same day, or the next day, but I got referred to the hospital and someone took me there – I can’t remember which one it was, or who took me. I had to wait a while to see a doctor, but not as long as many others as I had a GP referral. My arm was x-rayed and showed a small fracture. The whole process was very boring, especially as I guessed they would eventually just give me a sling and go home – which is exactly what they did. I also got quite embarrassed about having to tell everyone I came into contact with how I had managed to inflict this injury upon myself. ‘I fell over the edge of a mat’ seemed pretty pathetic, and I wished I had a more dramatic story to tell. A couple of years later I hit a stone when free-wheeling down Horsenden Hill on my bike. As a result I flew over the handlebars and landed hard, flat on my face. I managed to ride home, but by the time I was there I knew from past experience that I had done some damage – this time to my other elbow. Another fracture, and this time I had a slightly more dramatic story to tell. This time I had a really long wait in ER and was quite disturbed by a man who was rushed in after what I judged to be (due to his leathers and crash helmet) a rather horrific motorcycle accident.

by Matilda

Table

ameliac — Tue, 26 Aug 2008 20:10:50 +0000

When my mother first came to stay in my present house I let her smoke in the house (which I later didn’t do. She was pretty much a chain smoker and I’m virulently anti-smoking, and she eventually died of a smoking related illness at only 72). I had a magnificent little side-table top that my favourite brother had made me and she sat next to it on the sofa and had lit a cigarette and put it on a little ashtray on the table. As then often happened she’d fallen asleep with the cigarette still burning in the ash tray and it had rolled of onto the table top and burned it. I was livid because it was such a precious table top and it was burned by her smoking which I loathed so much. But now that she’s dead I look at that mark with a certain affection because it’s so much a mark of her.

Lynette Willoughby