I am not entirely sure that the cream is working.
I am putting it on every day, and rubbing it in really well, but I suspect that I have been ripped off by the foxy blonde pharmaceutical assistant who had seemed so interested in my condition. I complain to the LTLP about this.
“Let’s have a look at it then,” she offers.
She looks at my foot.
“Jesus,” she mutters, supportively. “It’s the size of a balloon. And blue.”
“Is that not what athlete’s foot looks like?” I ask. “The size of a balloon? And blue?”
She orders me to go to the doctors immediately. I get an appointment straight away, as everybody is scared of catching swine flu.
“Jesus,” mutters the doctor, supportively.
“It was just a bit athlete’s footy,” I explain. “Then I sort of went on a stag do pub crawl thing and walked about a lot and it got a bit sore and I hoped it would go away, but instead it sort of swelled up to the size of a balloon. And went blue.”
The doctor prods my shins. “Well it doesn’t look as if it’s spread to your legs and got in to your bloodstream.”
“Would that be bad?” I ask. I am not a medical person, but I do not want balloony blue legs as well, especially in the shorts season.
He gives me a look. “It would.”
He taps away on his computer whilst I struggle to get my shoe back on. I am sent back to the reception area to wait for my prescription – some powerful antibiotics.
A thought occurs to me as I leave the room.
“These antibiotics – are they really really powerful?”
The doctor sighs. “A small drink. You can have a small drink with them.”