An item on SABC3's News at 7 last week made me want to call Guinness World Records. "A baby has been born," intoned the newsreader, "with three arms, three legs and two penises. He also has problems with his anus. Besides that, the baby has no health problems."

I wanted to call Guinness World Records, not to report the unfortunate child, but to list whoever wrote the script for that report.

Surely there must be some sort of record for the most cretinous piece of writing in a news and actuality programme? It was like the first draft for a terrible comedy skit: "Well, we've delivered your baby, Mrs Bollard, and we have good news and bad news. The good news is that he has the right number of heads..."

I have always been a fan of the Guinness Book of World Records.

'The glamour! The groupies! We needn't stop at eggs'

As a small boy I would leaf through my 1984 edition, trying to spot the record to which I might one day turn my attention and achieve lasting glory.

The record for most raw eggs eaten in an hour seemed promising, until it occurred to me that in order to break it I would almost certainly have to spend an hour eating raw eggs.

It disappointed me, until my mother said: "Why don't you try for the record for most cooked eggs eaten in an hour?" That brightened me a little, until I remembered that I don't like eating cooked eggs either.

My good mate Chunko has the useful ability to carry a surprising number of raw and unshelled eggs in his mouth at the same time - his cheeks are like Louis Armstrong's; when filled with raw and unshelled eggs they stretch and billow like Ngconde Balfour's t-shirt.

If ever you should find yourself with a pile of eggs, the strong urge to move them somewhere, but no pockets, you mark my words: Chunko is the man to call.

Perhaps, I reasoned, I might be able to achieve Guinness immortality by association. If he would only let me be his trainer and manager, soon no one would be able to think of handless egg-carrying without thinking of Chunko.

His name would become a by-word for elasticated cheeks.

"Think of it, man," I urged him. "The glamour! The groupies! We needn't stop at eggs - once you are good and limber and we have started rubbing your face with linseed oil to prevent cracking, we can step up to crab-apples and tangerines! Pineapples! Small dogs! There isn't a person in the world who wouldn't pay to watch you put things in your mouth!"

But that is the problem with Chunko: no vision. He doesn't want to go professional; he wants to save his gift for friends and family members. I spent hours trying to cajole him, but he was unmoved.

Finally we just resorted to our usual mid-week competition: seeing who could hold the most pints of Guinness inside their bodies without leaking or falling to the floor. It was all, I thought, a sign.

"Give up on the book of records," said the sign, "or at the very least try find a record that does not involve eggs. Let go of the eggs, already. There is more to records than eggs."

But then I tuned in to Guinness World of Records (SABC3; Thursday; 8.30pm) this week to be greeted by one Nathan Withers, a youthful lad from Elizabeth, Indiana.

Nathan Withers, we soon established, down at the Chalk 'n Cue, is no relation to Porky Withers.

"Nathan?" said Porky Withers with as much superiority as you can muster when you are licking the inside of your empty glass in case there is still some gin to be extracted. "What kind of a name is Nathan?"

Nathan Withers, before our very eyes, and Sad Henry's very, very eyes, and Porky Withers' extremely eyes, proceeded to claim a place in the record book by balancing an egg on the back of his hand, then bending his fingers backwards towards his wrist until the fingers broke the egg.

Nathan Withers had 30 seconds in which to break his eggs.

Thirty seconds does not sound like a long time, but when you are watching a man break eggs by bending his hand backwards, 30 seconds can seem like the month of December.

"Four eggs!" yelled the presenter finally. "That's the new record!"

I have tried emulating Nathan Withers' achievement, but alas I fall short of four eggs.

I fall short by precisely four. I must just face it: I have no aptitude for egg-related records.

However, there was another record on the show that made me think.

What I need to do, I thought, is use the skills and experience I already have. What made me think this was a jolly buckeroo named Gordon, who set the world record for kissing cobras.

Before our very eyes - and our friend Wu Lin's slightly eyes - Gordon planted a big smacker on 10 consecutive monocled cobras.