TOTALLY FACTUAL NUT PRUNING ACCIDENT - HORRENDOUS! (Photo)

Today, I have been pruning my Hazelnut tree. It all started well enough, and before too long I was looking at a nicely trimmed tree and a large pile of small branches and trimmings on the lawn.
The tree had become somewhat overgrown over the past couple of years, and although it produces loads of hazelnuts, I never get to eat any as our local squirrel mafia manage to strip the entire crop in one day, when the nuts have achieved optimum size and ripeness.
I discover this act of theft each year when I look out of the kitchen window and wonder for a split second, what a bloody great pile of empty nutshells are doing on my lawn.
So, in an effort to thwart the little buggers next year, I decided to cut it right back so that the crop will be minimal, with the added bonus that the sun will no longer be blocked from the adjacent patio.
It is "green hopper" day tomorrow, when a gang of rather seedy looking working class men come along and take the large green bins of garden cuttings, in order to cart it off somewhere so that it can be shredded and eventually be made into compost. It was therefore imperative that I put all these tree parts into the bin before this evening, to avoid me having the inconvenience of taking it all to the dump myself.

So, I started to load the bin with trimmings, only to find that the larger branches needed chopping in order to fit them in.
Having a pair of pruners handy, I set about cutting off the long straggly bits and was doing well until I reached the point where the main branch was just a bit too thick for an easy cut. Rather than walk all the way to the shed to get the long handled loppers, I decided to just go for it with the pruners, as I only had a couple of thick bits to get through.
I grasped the pruners firmly with my left hand, held the branch with the other and squeezed the handles, causing the blade to cut into the wood. Not making much progress, I increased my grip to maximum and started swivelling the blade round the circumference of the bark, making a depp groove all the way round.

At this point, squeezing like buggery, the wood suddenly gave way, causing the handles of the pruner to snap shut on the end of my.....<ahem>.....willy.

STOP LAUGHING AT THE BACK THERE!! THIS IS SERIOUS!


After I had stopped screaming, I waddled my way gingerly to the bathroom, in order to inspect the damage.
Now....you know the sort of pain that is experienced when one nips one's finger in a door, enough to gewt a blood blister? Well, multiply this pain by at least five, and this is what it was like. I was expecting to remove my shorts and find a pulped mess of blood and various virile tissue.
The said shorts were removed, causing more yelping, and after counting to ten, I gathered enough courage to open my eyes, wipe away the tears and have a good look.
There was no visible damage as such, although there now seems to be an extra nobbly bit on the left hand side, but at a glance I could tell that my willy was angry with me.

It had been in a bit of a bad mood all morning, if the truth be told, as it knew that being the fourth Tuesday of the month, my copy of Kitchen Monthly was due to be delivered, but I refrained from checking the post as I was determined to get on with the gardening. As a consequence, it sulked, so when the handle slamming occured, willy was uncharacteristically dormant......well....asleep actually, as I was aware of a faint snoring sound coming from the upper part of my long johns.
There it was one minute, fast akip and snug, then....BANG....a bloody great pair of handles trying to rip it's head off. It was therefore quite understandable that he was mad.

In order to avoid a repeat accident, I went into the attic and retrieved my old cricket "box", used to deflect hard cricket balls from their soft, attractive human relatives. I strapped it in place, pulled up my shorts and went to answer the knock on the door.
Mrs Wilson, from the local Women's Institute, seemed to want to sell me some jam but just looked at my shorts, let out a faint whimper and walked away hurriedly.
Ten minutes later I received a call from her area manager of the WI, telling me that they were presently making a male version of the infamous nudie calendar, and would I like to be Mr December.
I declined, as no money was on offer.






Nicely pruned Nut Tree.







Horrendous implement. Please note the miniscule gap between handles.



Now....two things I have learnt from this experience, as follows:-


1. Pruning should always be performed whilst wearing a protective box.

2. A man fiddles with his willy (I prefer to call it stocktaking, or pocket billiards) on average 11.2 times per hour.
I calculated this after realising that I have yelped due to involuntary stocktaking, 56 times over the past five hours since the accident.



Anyone else have a silly accident experience to share?