I've often thought that if I ever broke my ankle, I would really be scuppered. You see, I've always been an active person with quite a few Munros + some long distance walks, under my belt. Nowadays, I still love country walks - which is a blessing with two active terriers!

I don't stand about much - besides in front of my easel, where I can be in the moment for an hour or two but, just like a tradesman or diyer, has to 'measure twice, cut once', I have to 'be initially spontaneous, then step back and consider what I'm trying to communicate'. So I'm not standing still for that long.

I'm impatient in a queue, hopping from foot to foot - unless I can zone out and think about something interesting. Time is pressing and all that.

I've usually taken care to walk confidently but deliberately, to protect my feet. Not in a Michael (Riverdance) Flately way - I haven't insured my feet for £25 million, or anything like that!

So, that said, it came as a complete surprise when I broke my toe. 

When I lived in Inverness, I had accepted a lift home from my dance class, by my dance partner. He had a big old white van, which he probably slept in, 'cos he lived a good distance from Inverness, and his gubbies (rubbish) were all over the front seat - including his old Yorkshire terrier.

It's funny how unaccommodating I was with canines before I had my own two!

Despite me surreptitiously pushing her aside, wee Emma was determined to sit only on my lap. She didn't care about the loose doghairs falling onto my fancy dance dress, or about that warm old-dog smell that was being pressed into it.  And she didn't care that my 10 denier tights were being dotted like a collander with her sharp claws, and were maybe allowing access to those fleas she was constantly itching?

All in all, it was a fretful journey.

In my haste to get out at my stop, opening the door and quickly stepping into the footwell, my foot stepped onto a glass lemonade bottle that had somehow rolled into the space, and although I tried to regain my balance, I fell onto the pavemant in a clumsy heap. I refused an offer of help. I was okay, I smiled and waved and, once the van was out of sight, I dragged my right leg behind me and limped into my flat. 

My old neighbour twitched her nets and probably surmised that I'd had a good night on the town, and was stumbling home steaming drunk!

I thought a good night's sleep would mend it, but when that didn't happen, I reluctantly had to bother the doctor. 

I was sent for an xray.

A week later, the xray concluded that I had the onset of arthritis on the top of my foot but made absolutely no mention of my toe! I refused to wait for another xray appointment, so I bothered a sports therapist instead. My toe was strapped up and I got exercises to do. Healing would take time.

That accepted, I just tried to increase the distance I walked before the pain flared up big-time. That was 15 years ago, only occasionally now does it bother me. And I still have no pain in the top of my foot where that onset of arthritis was indicated on the xray!

Now, about my big toes....I DO have bunions and my big toes are listing permanently at 45 degree angles, away from each other.

This has happened despite avoiding over-tight pointed-toed shoes with stiletto heels. My Mam had terribly pronounced bunions and she put it down to careless footwear when she went to dances in her youth. Unfortunately, I came to realise that bunions are hereditary, and nothing much to do with shoes.

In my 20s, a Scholl shop assistant, when assessing my feet for replacement sandals, had loudly blurted out, 'You are flat-footed and you have deformed feet and I can't help you!' Well, I was most indignant, 'cos at that point my feet seemed not that unusual - an average size 5, maybe slightly wide? And anyway, how many retail assistants refused to sell you products you were already wearing? She would surely never get promoted being so openly + unapologetically honest?

Besides, my best friend had size 7 feet - long and ugly, big mis-shapen things - yet she was never without a partner at discos. Probably 'cos everyone was captivated by her pretty face + smiling eyes, and their gaze never reached her feet!

Saying all that, my feet have never kept me back. I'm not doddery. And I don't need to steady myself with all the handholds in the shower + I've never felt the need to sit down on the shower seat 'cos I'm a bit peched out with the 2 minute procedure! I always check my wet footprints though - to check if I've got fallen arches.

I have an inkling that I'm getting shorter? I had put it down to those pesky feet again. But maybe there's another reason I'm losing inches?

Another story!

: )