"So what do I do now?""Press 'B'"
"Which one's that?"
"Just press 'B'"
"I know - but which one's 'B'?"
"On the back. With the letter 'B' on it. Just press it when you want to release the bowling ball."
"No. Sorry. Can't see it."
"Press 'B'! Press 'B'! Press 'B'! Press 'B'! Press 'B'!"
"There. Oh."
"What did you do?"
"I pressed 'B'"
"Which button was that?"
"The one on the front."
"That's 'A'. Here… let me show yo….OOOOYAGH!"
Our first Nintendo Wii casualty.
It occurred just as Scary's Very Tall Nephew made a second – and fatal – attempt to Wii Sports Bowling at the exact moment your humble narrator stepped in to show, exactly, where Button B was on the handset.
A handset that was planted, with no little power, straight into your narrator's trouser parts.
"OOOOOYAGH!" I exclaimed, in surprise and alarm, before assuming a foetal position on the living room carpet.
I would, under the circumstances, have fully expected at least an apology or some sort of concern for my wellbeing. However, my gasps of "You're… supposed… to… use… the… wrist… strap" were met with hoots of laughter from the gallery.
It's a good thing the loins are no longer in productive use these days - now that I am only playing for pride – but it was the kind of sporting injury that will surely have a detrimental impact on any future attempts at the Jousts of Venus.
In a separate and equally disturbing development – and an indication that my weekend could hardly get any worse - some joker in my household has replaced my Wii Mii with one that closely resembles Chelsea Football Club's lump-faced captain John Terry.
This means war.
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