Embarrassing injuries.

My mother, like mothers everywhere, has a whole stack of embarrassing baby photographs of me which she relishes whipping out at the drop of a hat whenever she feels she fancies making me blush a rich cherry red. "Look!", she says to the girl I've brought home. "Here's a photograph of David aged three, sitting naked in a suitcase! He thought that's how he got to go on holiday!". Or, "Here's a picture of David aged four, stark naked and building a sandcastle at the seaside!" quickly followed by "And here's one of him standing - completely starkers yet again - next to the hotel swimming pool holding a brick in each hand". Then she tends to sigh wistfully and mutter something about that not working out as planned, but I've never really understood what she was on about.
Perhaps the most embarrasing photo is of me in junior male stripper mode. Once again, about four, standing in a paddling pool, wearing not a lot but a smile, a cowboy hat, and a space hopper.*
When I was about 19, my dad once bemoaned that I never brought any girlfriends home to mee the parents. A quick glance at the photo albums lurking in the corner might have suggested at least one reason.

Anyway, one side effect of my younger years spent skipping about on the beach in the nip is that I now have lots of moles and periodically one or another of them will go a bit odd and require cutting off. I had one removed from my toe a few years ago the day before I went on a walking holiday to Scotland, which turned out not to have been a masterpiece of timing. And now I've got another.

It's on my arse.

Why, just for once in my life, can't I have a cool injury? Jackie Chan gets a hole in his skull and so retains his title of worlds coolest action hero. This just isn't in the slightest bit funny.

*And these days that's just a normal Saturday night.