Footloose

And fancy free?

Of course nothing is truly free, even Kenny Loggins charged us one pound ninety nine to buy his musical masterpiece, which accompanied the toe tappin’, foot jiving, celluloid creation from 1984. Recently remade, it inspired a generation of plimsoll dancing (I believe they are pumps in the US) and legwarmer toting dancers at every school disco.

Certainly there has been less “toe-tappin” over here on the peninsula, as I have been in need of some podiatry TLC.
Slightly more cracked than a peanut brittle, my  heels have taken to looking tired and forlorn, even downtrodden, especially after 2 weeks at the beach where jandals/flip flops are the mode de rigeur.

Off then I hastened to claim one of my “free” appointments at the local podiatrist. Free due to the long ravaging effects of that ole devil called diabetes and a smidgeon of sympathy from the local health authority.

Provided of course that it has been referred by a G.P.

This simple admin procedure had been overlooked by my doctor, due to his discovering the Lord and moving to Melbourne fairly sharpish. Personally I have never thought of Melbourne as the likely residence of God, but then I might have misheard that at Sunday School.

Or perhaps as an ex-diabetic, my GP felt that my feet would miraculously recover from 40 years of diabetic neuropathy?

In the end I politely waited as  my sparkly new GP rushed through the prior approval to the podiatrist so that I could get a much needed foot scrub. After a thorough buffing, polishing, and a final deep moisturising they were done for another 3 months.

And now my feet are as soft and smooth as a soft and smooth thing entering the annual National Softest and Smoothest Thing competition, where no doubt I would have won after all the care that has been lavished on them. I need to ensure they are moisturised well, though shall probably avoid Bacon fat.

These are my real feet, albeit in 2006 in Fiji.
No feet were harmed in the making of this blog.