The Internet can be a terrible thing. Yes, it is full of wonderfully urbane blogs like this one, and - yes - it is a wonderfully democratic way of doing things. But it also leads you to places you really don't want to go.
And the one place where the Internet really acts as my Achilles Heal is in self-diagnosing ailments. In fact, just using the word Achilles Heal in this blog gives me an ache.
The trouble I have is that, as a News cameraman/producer I have to travel a good deal. And when I travel I usually end up with a) jetlag b) Montesuma's revenge or c) some horrific ailment.
The problem comes not so much in the getting of the illness. It's in me going on the Internet, typing in: "Splitting headache with sore throat" and then, on reading what illnesses such symptoms mean I could have, fast-forward to me booking my place at the morgue.
It happened to me the other day. I stupidly decided to carry the camera, tripod, lights gear and my packed lunch in one go. And then walk for 25 minutes with it. I looked like a Marine. (Or at least I thought I did. Probably looked more like a Teletubby with baggage). At the end of the walk I felt a twinge.
The twinge became an ache. The ache, a pain. The pain, a lump.
I went on-line.
I diagnosed a hernia. I was distraught. I had visions of me having to wear a truss. Or - worse - surgery. I found solace that Madonna and Prince Charles had both had hernias, and they were still alive (or at least Madonna is).
I softly berated my wife for not showing me enough sympathy (she had drawn the line at giving me tea in bed). I announced to the newsroom I was on death's door. Things were looking bad.
Then I went to the doctor. I showed him the damage. He delived the diagnosis. I held my breath.
"It's a bruise".
I feel a plonker. I have taken "Wrongdiagnosis.com" off my 'favourites list'.