Ouch.

So it’s been more or less 6 weeks since I last wrote anything of substance (some would argue that it’s been 6 months since I last wrote anything noteworthy, but they are simply being mean spirited), and my regular readers have no doubt all been wondering where I have been. So to the four of you, allow me to quickly recount the drama which recently unfolded in my life.

It was a blustery Sunday afternoon, and somehow, I had managed to find myself involved in an informal game of cricket. To those of you who have followed my illustrious high school sporting career, this may seem surprising, as illustrious would never be a term soberly used to describe my high school sporting career. “Tepid” perhaps, or “lukewarm” on good days, but illustrious?

That would be a no.

Nevertheless, there I was, waddling in with great purpose to a set of three wooden stumps, before erratically hurling a hard red leather cricket ball at various stationary men – which is basically a rough description of what cricket actually involves – when a well-timed shot came hurtling back toward me in a menacing fashion. Feeling my life in danger, I was in the process of assuming the foetal position and was about to call my lawyer when the ball struck my right thumb, causing it to contort in a rather peculiar manner, like a 13 year old Romanian gymnast deprived of rib bones and a normal childhood.

“How very peculiar” I said aloud, further emphasising the unconventional nature of it all. “I had no idea my thumb could bend like that.”

It turns out my thumb could not bend like that. I had instead suffered what is commonly known as a “dislocation”, usually occurring when a bone in the body decides to jump out of the sanctity and safety of it’s socket, leaving it dangling precariously without support or guidance of any kind. A bit like moving out of your parents’ home for the first time, except here you are actually dislocating a finger, not moving out.

In any event, what I am trying to tell you, in my signature long-winded manner, is that I was then left wearing one of those ridiculous-looking splints which, although adding significant length to my digit, didn’t offer as much increase in girth as I had initially and secretly hoped for. This also then left me largely incapable of doing the simplest of tasks, from starting a car to cutting a slice of cheese. Even unzipping my pants to urinate proved to be a trying process, largely relying on The Girlfriend’s able and steady hands, or in rare and uncomfortable cases, the charitable nature of other urinal users.

Thankfully however, I seem to have recovered sufficiently enough to start jabbing on the keyboard again, so rest assured, my continuing absences are now a thing of the past.

So strap yourselves in, and get ready for some torrid tales, we have a lot to catch up on, and I will be obliging with daily updates, slowly reeling you in, like that shady drug dealer who hangs outside the bicycle shed at the high school, and gives out free samples of hash to the bored kids to have fun with.

Toodles.

Shaun Oakes

This was written by the hulking mass of manliness known as Shaun Oakes. If you enjoyed what he had to say, you owe it to yourself to follow him on Twitter at @shaunoakes. Do it now.