Local man, Martin Shuttlecock, is reported to be on the mend following a traumatic injury sustained upon his 'undercarriage' and believed to have been initiated by a trapped hair follicle in a place nobody in their right mind would ever want to go.
Shuttlecock believes that a mysterious incident occurred whilst travelling home from London Waterloo Station following a boozy interlude with some extremely odd people in Chiswick.
He blames sitting on a hard fold-down seat on the train for the duration of his journey home for the 'injury.'
After rescuing a child from a locked toilet whilst everybody else ignored what was going on as they were too busy twatting about and texting on mobile phones, Shuttlecock attempted to tackle The Times crossword, shuffling about a bit on his bottom as he did so.
"I didn't notice anything wrong at first. I got off the train and got a taxi home, and everything was cushty. A good day out spent in convivial company. Everything seemed to be right with the world."
But it wasn't.
Far from it.
The following day, a Saturday, Shuttlecock began to experience mild discomfort in a hidden nether region, but thought nothing of it. By the Sunday, the discomfort had steadily increased, and by the Monday morning, it was starting to get decidedly painful.
At the time, Shuttlecock was in charge of two grandchildren.
"I got up with the kids and cooked 'em a full English breakfast," he explained. "But I was struggling to sit down. Hurt like buggery it did. I had to sit on some cushions."
Long suffering wife, Anne Shuttlecock told us:
"I come home from work on the Monday and suggested we all go down the beach. He did sod all but moan. He moaned getting in the car, and he moaned as we walked on the beach. The miserable get."
It seems that as the week progressed, Shuttlecock's condition deteriorated to agonising proportions. Indeed, it got so bad, that on the following Saturday, Shuttlecock made an appointment to visit a doctor at a local hospital. But he never made it.
"When it came time to go," he told reporters. "I just couldn't make it. I could barely move without screaming in agony. I had to phone the hospital and ask them for a doctor to come out to me. They said they'd call me back, but the bastards never did."
It was at this point that long suffering wife, Anne, demanded to assess the damage. When she did, she was horrified.
"I know he's a right soft bastard," she told reporters. "So I was expecting to find a little pimple or something down there. But I was gobsmacked. That bit between his bum and his bollocks looked like two pound of pork sausages."
A desperate Shuttlecock achieved a degree of relief late on Saturday night as he went to bed.
"I had a Vesuvius moment," he explained. "What happened was..."
Yes. Yes. Thank you Martin Shuttlecock.
"But I'm better now! It..."
Too much information.
No more on this whether we get it or not.