I mentioned last week that I'd been stuffing myself with drugs to treat an abscess on a tooth, and I still am. (I've also got a heavy man cold - poor me). In fact, the latest course of anti-biotics could be - and possibly are - used to put horses to sleep. What's more, I'm not allowed to drink whilst taking them (yes, I might spill it - boom, boom).
The glee with which my dentist delivered this news to me suggested that (1) other options were available and (2) she wasn't allowing me to explore them. She's even sicker than I am.
On the upside (1) they are working and (2) I will be non-teetotal again by Saturday night (after cleverly revising the gaps between doses).
So that's the illness aspect of my current physical status dealt with. Now for the injuries - and I'll try to keep this short.
I went along to support a charity cricket event on Sunday. What I didn't go along to do was play in it. But, two pints after my arrival, I was on the field ready to make a mouth of myself. And I didn't disappoint.
It was a six-a-side game, five overs each, with each player (other than the wicket-keeper) expected to bowl one over apiece.
I volunteered myself to bat last in our innings and, after only three wickets fell, I didn't have to strap the pads on at all. I love it when a plan comes together.
Then it was my team's turn to bowl. Again, I bravely offered to bowl last. And again my selfless offer was accepted. But then events began to go downhill.
With four overs bowled and one to go, I was tossed the ball. Our opponents needed ten runs to win. It was my job to stop them scoring them.
With upwards of 100 people watching, I strode up to bowl my first competitive ball since 1986 - straight down the leg side for a wide. The crowd groaned. Nine runs to win, six balls to go.
My next ball, thankfully on the stumps, went for four. My next two deliveries were better, no runs scored. Three balls to go, five runs to win for our opponents.
The next went for four once again. One run required for victory, two balls to go.
It was at this point that the arse truly fell out of proceedings (as they say in Coleraine).
My next ball was on the wicket but hit very hard a couple of yards to my left by the batsman . I made a split second/foolish decision to dive and - incredibly - stopped the ball.
I also cracked a rib, strained my knee and damaged a back muscle.
I wasn't aware of these specifics at the time; all I knew was that it ****ing hurt. But, as the crowd cheered, my pride took over and I picked myself and prepared to bowl the final ball. One run was needed to win.
But I got carried away. With the crowd still cheering, I took an extra long run-up before unleashing the leather bound missile towards the batsman - straight over his head for a wide, a run and a defeat for my team. Some of the spectators' cheers even turned to boos.
I downed my third pint of the afternoon within seconds of coming off the field. At least I could drink back then.
