Why wild weather makes my 'nether regions' burn

As soon as the wind picks up, parts of my anatomy start to feel like they're on fire.

Wild weather makes parts of Damian Bathersby's body burn ... and there's a very good reason. Picture: DAN PELED

I'M not a big fan of wild weather like we've had over the past few days.

I'm not scared, mind you.

And I love going to sleep to the sound of wind and rain hitting the roof.

Or I would, if I could get to sleep.

You see, as soon as the wind picks up I get a nervous tick in my left eye and parts of my anatomy start to feel like they're on fire.

Private parts, if you know what I mean.

It all stems back to an unfortunate incident about 15 years ago when we were camping at Nelson Bay, near Newcastle.

A wild storm blew in across the bay and went roaring through our caravan park, basically destroying everything in its path.

We abandoned our little tent and shletered in the car but I knew it was time to abandon ship when I saw a massive gum tree come down on a caravan just 20 metres away.

Tree branches, roofing iron, eskies and even the occasional family pet were flying through the air but we made a run for the shower block and hid there with 15 or 20 other campers while the storm tried to tear the building apart.

The brick walls were shuddering with every gust of wind and several times I thought the roof was going to disappear.

That's all very interesting, I know. But many people have survived a lot worse.

The problem was that the day before the storm hit, we'd been to the Nude Olympics.

I won't go into the details - none of you deserve that - but what I will tell you is that I ignored my wife when she suggested I use sunscreen everywhere that was at risk of being burnt.

After all, I argued, a bloke could get into trouble if he stood naked on a beach full of other naked people, rubbing sunscreen into certain parts of his anatomy.

Needless to stay, I got horribly sunburnt.

Horribly, horribly.

So every step I took to flee the storm sent waves of pain through parts of my body.

I didn't so much run to safety as shuffle.

And I was quite happy to let people think I was whimpering in fear, rather than pain.

When the storm passed and the sun came out, the only structure left standing in the entire caravan park was our little tent.

Like a scene from an apocalypse, people emerged from hiding to clean up what remained of their tents and vans.

And in true Ausie spirit, they all pitched in to help each other.

But not me.

Oh no.

I barely managed to make it back to our erect but waterlogged tent, crawl inside, curl up in a ball and cry myself to sleep.

So if you're ever with me when a storm blows in, forgive the nervous tick in my eye.

And please don't ask me to rush anywhere.

It's still too soon.

Originally published as Why wild weather makes my 'nether regions' burn