Thong road to recovery in low blow.
YOU'RE probably wondering why I'm walking like John Wayne.
It's a bit embarrassing, but we have no secrets.
Three days ago, as I strolled manfully through the high street, someone bellowed my name.
I turned my head and walked into a bollard, striking my nether regions so hard that I was doubled over on the pavement for a matter of minutes.
"You couldn't make it up," chuckled a passer-by.
"You couldn't make it up," chuckled the nurse in A&E a day later as she inspected the severe bruising.
She added: "You weren't trying to leap-frog it?" Hardly.
I was weighed down by two bags of shopping. I'm not in the habit of vaulting bollards in a show of unbridled joy after a trip to Tesco.
She suggested wearing something 'non-restrictive' until the swelling and bruising recedes.
A thong, perhaps. I've taken her advice and find the experience, in the short term, strangely liberating.
Yesterday, however, I made the mistake of bending over to pick up a pen in the Post Office queue, presenting pensioners with a tantalising glimpse of the risqu garment.
There was a collective gasp and scattered tutting.
As I hurried, red-faced, from the branch one old dear said in a stage whisper: "It's always the ones you least suspect... " I turned and jabbered: "It's a medical thing. To do with my nether regions."
"My Ken's got varicose veins," sneered the OAP, "but he doesn't swan around in stockings and suspenders."