As an old woman in an Alan Bennett play might say, I'm a martyr to my feet. They give me all sorts of gyp. They go through phases of throbbing agony which can only be dealt with by replacing a pair of shoes, except the shoes I have to replace never seem to have any similarities.
It's not so much Right Foot - that's quite stoic. Left Foot is the big grizzly girl. Things got so bad after a weekend stomping around a festival that I hobbled into the GP today to see what could be done. One of the few perks of being a bottom feeder at a massive company is the private healthcare, so rather than an overworked Dr Whatever in the 64th hour of his shift I was greeted by a man who looked like Moss from the IT Crowd, if Moss was also in Vampire Weekend.
I assumed (hoped) he was a doctor as he only introduced himself as Nathan. Nathan was a bit too cool for my liking, and didn't look at all enthusiastic when I whipped off my sock. I gave my toes a little waggle to try to entice him but he was content to analyse the situation from a distance. Anti-inflammatory pills plus an appointment to see a foot expert, who will conduct a 'gait analysis'. Obviously I'm very excited about that bit, which I assume will involve walking up and down a catwalk while Louie Spence from Pineapple Dance Studios yells at me to work my hips. I will keep you posted. The letter that Nathan wrote to Louie on my behalf described me as "this pleasant gentleman". If any doctors are reading, could you please let me know if this is accepted medical terminology for "this massive tool"?
On a related medical note, I saw a businessman reading a dieting book on the tube home today. Sob Yourself Thin or similar. I admired his commitment to reading around the issue, although feared for his resolve when I notice his bookmark was a menu for Yeung's Express takeaway.
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