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Is sitting the new smoking?

A broken collarbone was one of the best things ever to happened to me.

Am I odd?

When I was a kid having a plaster-of-paris cast ,on a broken bone, was a symbol of courage; a badge of honour; and something to be deeply envious of. I so wanted my friends writing on my arm or leg shield. Silly messages that would be (some of them) sawn in two by the doctor to extrapolate the slightly shrunken limb, the forever displayed in a bedroom. So I hung off, jumped onto, balanced upon, swung, hopped, skated, bounced, flew, pogo-ed, danced, handstand-ed, tumbled, skipped