If I will play silly games ...

Playing rugby one day against Old Aldwinians (NE Manchester, UK), I charged down an attempted clearance kick. I was close enough for the boot to catch me, rather than the ball. After another ten minutes play, my hand was a bloated purple balloon.

I came off the field, changed and showered awkwardly, and then drove myself to nearby Tameside General Hospital. Please bear in mind that this car did not have automatic transmission. I could change gear only on straight stretches of road, taking my one good hand off the wheel. This was a built-up area, busy with pedestrians and traffic. Any 'Catters who may be in the Police (Constabulary, not Sting's pop group), please be forgiving. I won't be doing anything quite as daft again.

At Casualty Reception, I discovered that I was hallucinating. The room was full of people in the full finery of a wedding; clawhammer coats, top hats, etc. Only on closer inspection was it apparent that the brims of the top hats had been torn off in an attempt to ram the hats over the wearers' ears, lapels were hanging on by a thread, bloody noses and black eyes were common accessories, and the bride's mother was crying with something more than the joy of seeing one's daughter wedded. One of the casualty nurses told me, during the endless wait to have X-rays taken, that some jilted ex-boyfriend had created a scene at the reception, and the various drunken uncles of both bride's and groom's families had joined in, impartially and with gusto. Normal for Tameside, apparently.

The upshot was that I had fractured both the ulna and radius, at the distal end (i.e. nearest to the wrist). Oddly, almost every severe injury I have suffered has been to the same arm. Over thirty years, I have broken almost everything in it from clavicle (collar bone), humerus (not very funny in this case), to three of the fingers. There are only some metacarpals and minor bones in the wrist to go. I am still skiing, cash and job situation permitting. Watch this space ...