The perils of kite-boarding

Mart reels in my enthusiasm for taking up the sport of kite-boarding. When he was in hospital (there, you will recall, after going arse over tit down a flight of steps), the bloke in the bed next to him had most of his leg held together with metal pins.

Apparently this bloke had been banging along on his oversized skate-board, no doubt thinking he looked the dog's doo-dahs, when the wind lifts him and, with a flourish, deposits him on top of a concrete sea defense.

This drives the guys shin bone through his knee.

Obviously, this is the sort of thing that is going to require more than a kiss from matron and an application of TCP. Indeed, I nearly do myself an injury simply by hearing it, as I tense up so much my testicles are almost drawn through my body and into my windpipe.

I'm not deterred though. The thing about Brancaster Beach is that there is bugger all on it. There are only three things you're likely to collide with. The sea. Some pines and, of course, other mad-arse kite people.

Context is the key here - listing simply the top ten of things that I am likely to collide with in everyday life we have: 1/ Deadlines 2/Busses 3/ Taxis 4/ Bike messengers 5/ Yeti 6/ The pavement after skidding for fifteen yards on some fresh dog-shit that has gone undetected and the donor of which appears to have been on a diet of oil and ball-bearings 7/ People who insist on holding their cigarettes at head height 8/ People who insist on holding their umbrellas at groin height and 10/ People who insist on holding their groins at groin height.

Okay, so the Yeti thing was an exaggeration, but you see my point.