So I'm off to the hospital again to fracture clinic this afternoon. To recap, I had my achilles tendon repaired 4 weeks ago and the surgeon had convinced me of all the benefits of early mobilisation in an airboot. (In fact he called it a Beckham boot, as do lots of others- perhaps it's one of those matey colloquialisms, or perhaps it's an expensively made football boot with lots of rubbery bits so I can do a curling shot over the defence's wall). Anyway, when the op was over they realised they didn't have the heel wedges to put my foot in the equinus (high heeled) position, so they told me they would have put a plaster cast on and order the wedges for 2 weeks time in fracture clinic. So there i was 2 weeks ago in fracture clinic, enjoying the feeling of cool air on my foot as it was cut from its encasement only to be told: "sorry have the boots but we are still out of heel wedges" we'll put you in plaster for 2 more weeks". Being a quack myself, I had been quite passive so far, not wanting to be a difficult patient for my fellow doctors. But 4 weeks delay whilst my calf shrivelled away? All those explanations of early weighbearing being ideal to induce collagen formation in the healing tendon now dissipated away. Not only do all my possessions nearlywork, not only do I nearly work, but also my local hospital doesn't quite work. So the following week after that, the orthotics department told me that they was a delay on the next batch being made and the factory had just relocated to Glasgow, blah blah, all true of course (and actually worse because when I phoned the factory they told me the delay might be many more weeks) but of course there are lots of suppliers out there with the blessed part in stock. So now I am £10 poorer but armed with that vital piece of equipment, a low tech stack of polystyrene wedges held together by double-sided tape with a bit of neoprene on top that arrived at my door 10 hours after ordering it.

Anyway, I'll get a good chance to read a book this afternoon as fracture clinics usually run very late. Last time I got through a good chunk of Oliver Sack's Musicophilia. I got 3 hours of reading in before being seen. The fire alarm went off also so I hobbled outside into the car park with all the other staff and patients until some very overweight firemen arrived to reset it. Today I'm going to take Steven Pinker's How the Mind Works. Or perhaps I wont take anything and I'll sit continually tutting in the waiting room. I hope they don't call it a Beckham Boot again. I might turn into a toxic pedant and ask them where David Beckham's endorsement is on the product. Or ask them if I can play football in it.