A: Getting your feet done by a wonderful chiropodist (or is that podiatrist, or both, and is there a hierarchy or an etiquette for what you call them?) whilst chatting about winning the lottery - though as neither of us actually buy lottery tickets, this scuppers our chances just a little.
I now have holiday feet, fit to show Australia. I won't go into any detail whatsoever of how that was achieved, but for people like me who are squeamish about feet and .... I can hardly bear to type the word.... toenails, having someone else willingly and skilfully sort them out for you while you look away, it's a life-enhancing experience. Thank you, Alison! I hope you enjoy the peanut butter biscuits.
After what we call our Vivienne Night, which took place yesterday, and is a euphemism for collective pain and suffering involving leg waxing and eyebrow tweezing, I just have to get my Black Gown trauma/hair appointment over and done with next week to feel like I am almost fit to be seen in a country where no one has spent the previous six months huddled, pale grey and flabby, in thick layers of vests, socks and jumpers, with only chapped hands and weatherbeaten faces showing.
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