For anyone interested... my broken toe is healing nicely. It has however reached the itchy stage of a healing fracture. Fortunately, unlike an arm or a leg, it's not encased in a plaster cast, so I don't need to procure knitting needles from somewhere (quite blatantly I don't own any, and I no longer live with a mother who can knock out a jumper in a day. Or, at least she could until she had a child who was always in plaster, and now she has to knit round knee-shaped corners). The problem with having a permanantly itchy foot is that there's something socially unacceptable about throwing off your shoes and socks and scratching frantically in public - people tend to think you have some unpleasant infectious fungal disease and steer clear. Returning to a theme I touched on in my last entry about how to gain as much personal space as possible within the boundary that is the M25.
Another good thing about the healing process is that I now have a choice in shoes once more. You see, when I unintentionally found myself spontaneously training for the Paralympic Slippery Floor Skiing Demonstration Event, I was on my way to the recording of It's Been A Bad Week, because it's quite a pleasant way to spend an afternoon when you're owed the time off work. I did spend five minutes pondering "shall I go? Or should I stay home and feel sorry for myself?" Knowing that I had to consume some alcohol, and concluding that the bar at Ronnie Scotts had a broader choice than the 4 pack of Smirnoff Black Ice I had in the cupboard, I decided to go out.
The problem I encountered was - footwear. You see, I was in a fair bit of pain (though, fortunately because of my ankle I already had prescription pain killers in my system when I did the toe, so it could've been worse) and my foot was getting larger quite rapidly.
Fortunately I am the lesbian Imelda Marcos - my huge shoe collection (arising out of having the same size feet since I was 13 and barely being able to walk) consists solely of trainers and Doc Martins. Surely I must be able to get one pair onto my feet...
There was literally ONE pair of shoes of which I could get the right one onto my foot. The problem was the length of time it took me to try on all my other shoes to come across the The One. I'm aware that this tale is now starting to sound like a modern day, inverted, Cinderella. Sadly, there was no Princess Charming present, and I'm still awaiting a Civil-partnering proposal (gee. Who said romance is dead when hopefully there will come a day in my life when I can say to someone "Will you civilly partner me?" It sounds like the kind of agreement arch-enemies might come to when they realise they have to get along to gain mutual benefits. Actually... probably not that far off the truth).
Needless to say, I was late, as always. At least for once I had a reasonably good excuse for my puntually challengedness.
But now my variety of shoes is opening up again! Hoorah! Though, this may not be all great as on Friday I did look slightly out of place in a bright pink T-shirt and very sparkly trainers at a party of goths (I didn't really mind, I got told I had a great butt. Compliments about my appearance other than "I like the colour of your hair" or "oooo, I like your new piercing" don't come often when you look like me).
People with a mindset like mine can often be heard to utter phrases like "I'm glad I'm disabled/gay/a huge Hi-De-Hi, fan and wouldn't change a thing about my life even if I could." It's true, my belonging to one minority group is often complimented by my belonging to another. I'll never forget something I read once written by Francesca Martinez about high heeled shoes. You see, Osteogenesis Imperfecta means I can only wear sensible shoes and I generally need a selection of sensible shoes to cater for various foot/ankle related injuries/pains (though, fortunately, I haven't seen the gigantic fluorescent socks which fitted over a plaster cast for about 20 years now), but being a lesbian means that sensible are the only kind of shoes I have the desire to wear. All I need now is a pair of Doc Martins with Su Pollard's face painted all over them and I'm set.