My left foot hurts. Still. I am starting to hobble like a car park attendant, it is getting annoying, yet I am reluctant to go to the GP in case it escalates into the “well, what with your history and risk factors” conversation and a trip to the RSCH (see NAWM passim).

Talking of docs, I brought a pair of fake ones the other day. A penny under a score from Shoe Zone.

Real brand name boots have always been a bit of a luxury. These cherry red doppelgängers remind of school. When my Dad was forever getting me fake Monkey Boots, which my erstwhile friends named “Flid Boots”, no matter that Paul Weller is wearing a pair on the cover of All Mod Cons . Oh no, it wasn't “Cool, monkey boots, just Weller”, no it was “Ha-ha, he comes Trotsky in his flid boots, the fucking Joey!” [Anyone who watched Blue Peter circa 1981 will know where this rather pleasant term originates from] And this was from the ones who called themselves my mates. I suppose the situation wasn't helped by the third generation hand-me-down plastic looking leather jacket, my prematurely aged visage and that my hair was violently cropped by my Mum. In retrospect I guess that I did look like either a newly released prisoner or a waxwork of Rodney Trotter that had been in a fire.

Anyway, as with real Doc Martens my boots are bloody murder to break in, it feels as if my legs may snap at any moment not unlike a Subbuteo player being trampled by a dog. Back in the mists of time, Subbuteo goalkeepers were on a length of wire, which when a breakage occurred you could remove said wire, heat it up and literally weld the broken player back together. My mate Minton had an entire West Ham side that had been damaged and repaired in this fashion, it looked like Mervyn Day with 10 Pop Robsons in front of him.

Anyway, my left foot hurts. Still. Oddly a student just saw me very ungracefully stagger to some shelves and wondered if this was due to a blockage of energy, my mental state impinging on my physical well-being. She always wondered if I felt like I wasn't travelling on the “right road” in my life, “to be honest”,I replied “I’m probably not even on the right map”.

Oh well, here’s a picture of 60's songster Len Barry….