I’m currently on the sofa doing a passable imitation of Mme Recamier as I rest my heavily bandaged foot after a bunion operation. Loyal readers will recall that I had the other one done last year.
It seems a luxury to have time to read and rest, but after a while you long to get out of the house and do something. Both hands are needed for crutches, so it’s impossible to carry anything whilst I’m banned from putting my foot on the floor.
The large purple arrow indicating which leg for the operation has just about faded away, and a quick look at the sorry state of my foot when I went to have the stitches removed made me hurry to have it wrapped up again.
What I need is something to look forward to, so I’ve booked flights back to dear old Italy in February. I’m quite impressed by the assistance airlines and train companies offer. It seems I can be met by a wheelchair at King’s Cross and taken to St.Pancras for my next train to Gatwick. Even Air France, which past experience has taught me is very unhelpful, has arranged to meet me at Charles de Gaulle airport for the return trip via Paris, and wheel me through the labyrinth to the gate. It’s almost worth being disabled, but not quite!