Things my father failed to tell me 1

It was one of those things that your father fails to tell about as a boy, one of those things that he really should have mentioned to enhance the life of his progeny. I think I must have muttered to myself while I was shaving (I often seem to mutter in front of mirrors, though, sadly, rarely anything complimentary), the result being a seven millimeter gash producing the same amount of blood you'd expect from a severed limb. Now, the men amongst you will know that a razor-cut lip is not a thing to be trifled with, it takes about three days for the cut to heal sufficiently so that normal life can continue, in the meantime you must not touch your lips or in anyway deform the cut site. Consequently, a great deal of care must be taken while pulling on or off any over-the-head clothes, the sort of extravagant care meted out by parents on young children (mind you it is a well-known fact that the ears of anyone under the age of six are notoriously unstable). You must not smile which is why I had rather a grim journey in, though my stony countenance failed to secure me a seat, you must not do anything that raises your heart rate, as any increase in blood pressure causes catastrophic clot failure. In fact, due to the sensitivity of the lips, any change in the fragile meshwork of the clot is perceived as darts of cold, or sudden relaxations or balloonings, a quick scan of people in your immediate area will usually tell you if any seepage is taking place, either by the looks of disgust or by the sudden turning of the head to avoid any eye-contact with a grim-faced individual with a slick of bright blood coursing down their chin, failing that, or if you are alone, you tend to only find out when the blood cools on your collar, or drips appear, startlingly, on the floor, your shoes, or your new white shirt. So it was with great trepidation that I cleaned my teeth this morning. I have invested in a Colgate Massager which looks like it should be found downstairs (if you'll pardon the pun) in the larger versions of Ann Summers which, for the benefit of overseas recipients, is an "adult store" and seems to have been designed by Keith Flint's (he of The Prodigy) stylist.
Tonight I am taking a couple of visitors on the "Historic Pub Crawl", I just hope they don't think I'm being surly.