Footnote 8: Bunion bulletins bore for Britain...

I'm suffering from Bunion ennui. Yes, I am truly bored with banging on about bunions. But I have  the issue of nomenclature. I named this blog The Great British Bunion and thereby shot myself in the foot, so to speak. I have a duty of care, therefore, to those poor buggers who limp to my blog in search of useful information. So for the rest of my dear precious readers, please bear with.

The second operation to straighten my second toe does not appear to have worked. It seems to be as angular as ever. Another medical visit beckons, but frankly, short of going though the whole schamozzle again, I am tempted to call it a day. Meanwhile the bunion on the other side is giving intermittent gyp.
I would like to have that hewn at some point in the future, because when all is said and done, shoes fit more comfortably now on the left foot.  That is a positive.

Just returned from a few days away in Hampshire with the family, great and small, and four-legged. The Feraro Rocher mountain was divided unequally between eight of us, and Petersfield had its own Farrow and Ball stockist. A little something for everyone. So we added two more sample pots to our new mountain of paint pot testers which reaches a critical tipping point tomorrow when our decorators return. I have got to the stage where I only have to look at a colour chart to feel queazy.
"Well, we've narrowed it down to 28," said my Dearest husband, breezily.
"So, I'll leave that with you then."
Great.

Says it all...