The Tale of men's shirts Pt || (The cause)

A friend of mine erected a new fence for us, one of those with concrete posts into which you drop the panels.

"One of us" stepped on his round headed rubber hammer.

It may have escaped the collective notice but, one of the properties of round things is ... they are apt to roll. Particularly when stood on.
I landed with my right fore-arm on one of the posts, resulting in a few scratches, a loud OUCH!!, a few "well chosen words"? Nope - several, randomly chosen ones actually, other than the usual ...Shazbat, Trossachs, Jam & butter it, etc.

Several weeks later I had occasion to stand on a low chest of drawer to access the top shelf of a wardrobe.

Having dodgy knees, I employ a, usually successful, technique for getting down.

Long step onto bed, hurl both legs backwards, adopt a "Superman"-like attitude and land prostrate to boing a few times on the bounciest bed I've ever experienced. For some inexplicable reason I chose, on this occasion, to land on my elbows instead.

The result was a few more well chosen words and the elbow above. A couple of months later, you see it's still there to poke holes in me shirt.

I'm not sure if tennis elbow and dog-walkers elbow are synonymous but do know, courtesy of the Doc, that it's not the same (location apart) as "House-maids knee" or "Bursitis"

From which I'm forced to admit I must have House-maids elbow.

Wouldn't you burst with that thing poking at your seams?