Dangerous to know

I'm physically calamitous and maim loved ones on a regular basis, so please consider this a disclaimer
    • The Guardian,
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Today, I nosebutted my fridge. I didn't do it on purpose; I don't hate my fridge that much, ­despite its variable ­temperatures occasionally turning milk sour. Even if I did hold grudges against ­inanimate objects, I don't believe in butting off my nose to spite my own fridge.

No – it was an accident, one of the many I inflict on myself and other people each year. On New Year's Eve, I fell down a flight of stairs; last week, I elbowed my boyfriend forcefully in the eye while attempting to throw an affectionate arm around him. Before that, I tried to hug a man, snagged his ear with my fingernail and took off a wedge of skin. In my attempt to convey fondness, I had suddenly turned into a French-manicured Mike Tyson.

I don't want to be feared, but what else can you expect when you go around regularly maiming acquaintances and loved ones? I have bitten noses when going in for a kiss; I have crushed groins while attempting to appear seductive. My elbows have no limits to their waywardness, and are surpassed only by my knees. There is nothing appealing or endearing about this profound clumsiness: it is not Bambi on ice, it is a grown woman unintentionally bashing people in the nether region. Whenever a friend declines a party invitation, I now picture them sighing, "I'd love to go, but I just can't risk losing a body part."

Terrifyingly, I know what happens to people who are deemed "a danger to themselves and others"; for years, I have fallen into this category. As yet, I've managed not to do anyone any serious damage, but with my track record surely it's only a matter of time. Straitjackets and padded walls beckon, as do white-coated men sucking pens and testing reflexes. The difference between me and a maniac is intention; I'm not mad or bad, just dangerous to know – but that's a difficult thing to prove.

I'd like to eschew all responsibility for being physically calamitous, but worryingly, it seems more and more people believe all accidents involve a guilty party. Napoleon reckoned "there is no such thing as an accident, only design", while new age writers have made (and traumatised) millions by suggesting people are wholly culpable for each ­tragedy that befalls them, giving them a false sense of certainty in a random world. Most alarming of all are the ambulance-chasing lawyers: at some stage I fully expect to find myself either the recipient of a lawsuit from Accidents-Can-Make-You-Rich Direct, or the subject of one of their TV ads ("Have you been involved in an accident that wasn't your fault? Was it Ariane Sherine's fault?")

It's true that I can't be held accountable for some of these physical blunders – for instance, when you're 5ft 2in, your umbrella spokes are going to end up in other people's faces. I shouldn't be penalised for this: it would be like me suing a small child for puncturing my face with their brolly. (You'd think Napoleon would have been with me on this.) Some misadventures are also due to poor motor control, errant paving and inclement weather, yet even now the Law Society is telling people to be set to sue for slips in the snow (can atheists claim for acts of God?).

However, a sizable proportion of the frequent minor catastrophes are admittedly down to my walking around in a daze, being unaware of my own body and its strength, and not looking where I'm going. I'm trying to be more alert and co-ordinated, but still have one accident, on average, a week, two-thirds of which involve other people – meaning I experience shame and self-loathing on a regular basis. Sadly, short of tattooing "DANGER!" on my forehead or wearing an orange hazard triangle around my neck (possibly starting a new fashion trend for the accident-prone), I'm at a loss as to how to prevent the inevitable impending litigation.

So I'd like this column to act as a ­disclaimer against any future mishaps involving injury to others, and will be sending it to everyone I know. I want to be classified along with bungee-jumping, free-running and leaving your coat in a dodgy cloakroom as an activity you undertake at your own risk. Come near me at your peril, be deterred by my cuts and bruises, envelop me in your arms and prepare to lose them. I have warned you, and that's all I can do; for now I must go and clean the blood off my fridge.

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