FOOT

 So, back from Frimley Park Hospital covered in bandages. Funny how the threat of a catheter up your willy gets you discharged in double quick time and back home in the comfort of your own bed.

I'm lighter by a shaved-off bit of foot bone and a lump of Flappy Cartiliage (the name of Npalm Death's album of B-sides and out-takes, fake fact fans), and they've filled the problem area with micro-fractures in the hope that it all fixes in the right direction.

And the crutches. I didn't realise crutches would be such hard work. Just going to the loo in the middle of the night is a major logistical operation that requires major household turmoil. I'll have the upper physique of The Rock by the end of these six weeks hobbling around; and my Amazon order history now has a piss bottle, a pair of weight lifting gloves and a copy of Cards Against Humanity against my name. I'm only a side order of a Michael Bolton CD away from them tipping off the police.

Fiinal observation: The NHS is awesome. Let's keep it that way.