Look after your feet - you can't get anywhere fast without them

Faced - 'footed'? - with a couple of stubborn veruccas (ever the Ulster women, even my afflictions are stubborn), I told my cheery chiropodist to throw everything she had at them. Her grin should have been a warning sign.

This morning, a day after the latest 'freezing', I headed off to the station, en route to a French grammar workshop - yes, I know .... But in a bit of a d'oh! moment I realised that I was in pain and hobbling, and moving at half my usual stomping speed. Result? Two trains missed, and the workshop  - its places like gold dust - abandoned, by this scholar at least.

So here I am, back at my desk, full of paracetamol and pondering my feet. They still hurt and I am realising how little thought I give them when they aren't throbbing. I scuff around in Converse, flop in Havaianas and shuffle in ballet pumps. All without giving my poor tootsies a second thought.

No more! Never mind religious zealots, I will become a foot zealot - not in a kinky way, I hasten to add. It will be scrubs and buffing all the way now. And glittery gold treats like these will be just that, treats.

Feet - welcome to the world of special treatment.