The bank holiday weekend that has just past has been our hottest in April since 1949 with temperatures reaching 29c on Fri/Sat under azure blue skies. This kind of weather has been quite typical in the April’s of the last three or four years, but it has always, rather worryingly, been followed by lead grey skies during the school holidays in late July and August. Whether this is a general trend or pure coincidence remains to be seen, but I am not sure that I mentally equipped to spend another summer sheltering from the wind and rain amidst wrecked camping gear and cancelled cricket matches. It is just not fair that after dark long winter we should have to cope with it, I want a drought this summer whether the water board like it or not.

Consequently I enjoyed the weather while it lasted and spent every day of the weekend in the sunshine, firstly with a picnic at the river Test near Stockbridge with Diane and our respective children (minus George, who at 15 years old doesn’t do picnic’s anymore) and on Saturday with a game of cricket for Oakley. During the long months of winter I have been convincing myself that this was to be the year I finally chalked up my first 50 in a cricket match. After innings of 22 not out and 29 last summer, I had in my minds eye images of myself raising my bat towards the pavilion on beautiful afternoon as a healthy amount of spectators applauded my efforts. I would then wipe my sweaty brow put my helmet back on and continue to keep the score board ticking over in the face of hostile opposition bowling before finishing the day unbeaten and victorious.

Saturday was in fact the perfect sunny I needed day to realise my deluded ambition, so I went out and pranced around like a child on hot sand for four deliveries before hearing the emotionally crushing sound of my off stump clunking to the ground. Bowled for nought and my dream was on hold for another week amidst excuses abound about the ball “staying low” as if getting out wasn’t actually my fault. As a keen sportsman I have never really come to terms with being utterly shit at cricket, which if played properly can be the most graceful of sports, whilst if it is played by the likes of me it can also be the most ugly. In five minutes I went through, in order, the following feelings of anticipation (waiting to bat) excitement (being next man in) nerves (walking to the crease) nausea (facing my first delivery) dejection (hearing the ball hit the stumps) humiliation (the long walk back) and deceit (convincing everyone that an innocuous ball had deviated wildly). That can’t be good for my blood pressure can it? So much for cricket being a gentle game, I love it, but sadly, it hates me intensely.

I consoled myself on Easter Sunday by visiting Di’s mums house where I ate lots of food before eating some more, taking a short break, eating a bit more, then finishing off with just a bit more for no apparent reason. I ate so much that I survived the whole of yesterday on a small bag of chips and two pints of beer at the football. Quite how fat people can keep consuming is beyond me, that feeling of being full up yet still grazing must be a source of constant mental stimulation to some people, but to me it just guarantees a fitful nights sleep with intermittent nightmares as my digestive system tries to cope with the sheer volume of food I have stuffed down my throat. Maybe it is a good thing over eating doesn’t suit me, I am still not that hungry today, a full forty eight hours later.

However the most bizarre event of my weekend was a call from one of the lads who works for me stating that he would not be able to work all week on his doctors advice. Now, I have had lots of reasons for absence from work in my time (especially after long bank holidays) that have ranged from exhausts falling off cars, deaths of family or pets, flights being delayed from trips abroad, muggings and assaults and even in one case a poor chap who was murdered in his own house in London. However, in all my fourteen years of running an employment company, I have to say I have never, until today, had a contractor call in sick with, wait for it……. A FRACTURED PENIS! Unbelievable stuff don’t you think? Like most men, I have got to know my own penis quite well over the years so call me naive if you wish, but I have never thought for a minute I could fracture it! In fact if I had known it was possible I think I would still be a virgin at 43!

When I first heard this comically grim news I thought it was a joke, but courtesy of Google I found out that yes, you can actually snap your penis into almost oblivion, potentially rendering you sexually retired for the rest of your days. I am not laughing anymore, here are some of the extracts from the penis fracture article:

Presentation: A popping or cracking sound, significant pain, immediate flaccidity, and skin hematoma of various sizes are commonly associated with the event. These symptoms are similar to a common bruising or contusion of the penis.
Treatment and prognosis: Penile fracture is a medical emergency, and emergency surgical repair is the usual treatment. Delay in seeking treatment increases the complication rate. Non-surgical approaches result in 10%-50% complication rates including erectile dysfunction, permanent penile curvature, damage to the urethra and pain during sexual intercourse.In some cases, retrograde urethrogram may be performed to rule out concurrent urethral injury.
Causes:
In the western world the most common cause, accounting for about 30%-50% of cases, is intercourse. Of those, woman-on-top position resulting in impact against the female pelvis bone or perineum and bending laterally are most common. Oooh, ouch, I am actually wincing whilst I am writing this.

BUT HERE IS THE WORST BIT!!! 

The practice of taqaandan (also taghaandan) also puts men at risk of penile fracture. Taqaandan, which comes from a Kurdish word meaning “to click,” involves bending the top part of the erect penis while holding the lower part of the shaft in place, until a click is heard and felt. Taqaandan is said to be painless and has been compared to cracking one’s knuckles, but the practice of taqaandan has led to an increase in the prevalence of penile fractures in western Iran. can someone tell me why anyone would deliberately put their best and oldest friend in so much danger?

I’m going to Diane’s tomorrow, I think I can feel a headache coming on!