Stand in the place where you are…

I’m so HAPPY! Like really, really happy! I’ve had a really good day 🙂 I feel like I’ve actually, factually, finally mastered the art of reversing. Not just reversing, but reversing with an aim in a whole car! I feel good about my test, and I reckon the only thing that’ll ruin it for me is some dickhead of a pedestrian or driver who’ll mess up my chi.

Which is incredibly likely. But we’ll just have to deal with it if/when it happens. (And my test is at 3.30pm, school run, so I suspect some little oik will ruin it for me and I shall have to eat his face.)

So yes, a good driving lesson, with a few more to go before my 3rd test. I’m beginning to think I should offer my firstborn to the DVLA if it’ll make things any easier. I’ve had two anal testers, one of whom failed me because I mounted the pavement. I wish I had divulged to him that some people pay good money for that kind of service…

My new driving instructor is amazing. He’s a tall, lanky irish bloke who’s very funny and a part time voiceover artiste! He’s the kind of guy you can happily spend 2 hours in a car with, driving round and doing League of Gentlemen voices. Plus, he comes out with some classic lines which put me totally off any mirrors, signals and manoverings. His diamonds this week include;

*(Whilst waving to a fellow AA driving instructor on the road) ‘Y’know, I wave at all these people, but I’ve no idea who they are!’

*‘When I was young, all the kids at school had Deep purple, Lynard Skynnard and The Who scribbled on their pencil cases. I was only allowed to listen to what my brother wanted to play on the stereo. So I wrote Neil Diamond.’

*(With worrying enthusiasm as I was talking about my awesome clutch control) ‘Mmmm…women in control. I like that!’

Yes, he is mental and my personal favourite out of the three I’ve had so far.

Then, I went SHOPPING! I haven’t been clothes shopping for ages. I get so angry at Evans, and today was no different. The tops are too small, too sleeveless, and too expensive. And they’re that ‘mock rock’ type. Y’know the ones with ‘Harcore punk!’ splattered all over them..in diamontes. They make me violently sick. And today, I discovered their stockings have disappeared! Can you beleive that?! Seriously, thats not what you need in this profession.

But it did make me to go to Marks & Sparks, buy a pair there. I was dubious because of their less-than-generous sizing policy,  and yet these one fit ok! I even find myself thinking ‘Hmmm…..worth it!’ I mean, they’re silky, smooth, they have some amazing technology which means they wont ladder if they get a hole, and they go pretty far up my leg! The Hold Ups failed on a spectacular level though. But still, my legs are silky smooth.

Which will please my podiatrist. Yes, a fantastic link to my third happiness, happiness, the greatest gift that I possess, I finally plucked up the courage to see someone about my ankle.

Since I was a tiny toddler, my ankles have routinely given up on me. I have twisted and sprained them more times than I care to remember, I even have a magnificent spiral fracture to my name. Anyway, I thought all the hassles I’ve put them through would explain why, since I was about 12, my ankles have routinely had me in agony after the briefest spate of walking. And now it’s just ridiculous. In the last few years, my ankles would kill after about 10 minutes. The tendons would always feel like I had been walking on the outer edges, thus making my tendons feel like rusty springs. So it’s a bloody good job I spend most of my working life on my back…

When I broke my left one, the pain subsided a little. Hoorah! Thought I. I can walk and run and jump and sing! Just as long as I walk and run and jump and sing in circles, for the other one still screamed in pain and jealousy of it’s left hand twin.

Finally, finally I decided I’d had enough. Going to the gym is just a nightmare..and pointless if I’m not going to go for more than ten minutes. So I went to a podiatrist. And I paid gladly, for he told me those magic words ‘You’re not making things up, it’s actually a real problem.

Well, not the greatest thing one wants to hear, but it was for me! You mean, it’s not just cos I’m a bit lazy? Or I walk weirdly? Or I have weird toenails?

No! It’s because I have UNUSUALLY high arches! Unusually. Yep, thats me..unusually high of arched! Great for a dancers, not so great for me cos it actually means that I’m just walking on half a foot. Everyone else gets a whole foot to use, but I, dear mortals, have but a mere half. And it all made sense when he explained it to me! I’ve spent years with people saying ‘Ooh, haven’t you got high arches!’ without batting an eyelid, whilst I walk on in agony.

Turns out these arches of mine are the things responsible for my many twists and sprains..I’m not just a clutz! So the cure?

Ok, the cures not quite so glam. He made moulds of my feet (which would have been lovely, except my toenails were in tatters, with the polish doubly so) and with them, I get orthowotsits. I’m not entirely sure of the real name, but they’re insoles to help distribute the weight and use the arch a bit more. On top of that, no more cool unlaced shoes for me! I need to velcro/tie them up as tight as possible..So, yeah, I’m basically gonna look like I ride the special bus if people look below my ankles. And I’m paying a fair ole whack for the pleasure. I’m not entirely sure of the reaction I might get if I slip off my stripper heels to show orthopedic inserts. I’m guessing it’s not going to be “My, what a sensible young lady! Wearing sensible orthopedic inserts to support her unusually high arches.” Yep, there’s a stiffy killer right there…

I bet Darcy Bushell never went through this.

But my mind is buzzing with the possibilities of teasing the foot fetishists out there! Hey boys, wanna stroke my unusually high arch? Yeah, I betcha cant wait! Whats that? You want a preview? Oooh! I might be persuaded to tease you…just a li’l 😉

Unuuuuuusually High Arches. Coming to a floor near you.

Unuuuuuusually High Arches. Coming to a floor near you.

I have also registered my interest in being one of Anthony Gormleys Fourth Plinth participants. I’m not entirely sure what I’d do with my hour. Maybe stand in my Best Lingerie and wave at people as some kind of Size Acceptance demonstration. After all, it’s bad enough reminding men that it’s OK to like Big Women, but practically impossible to tell a Big Woman that it’s OK to like yourself.

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