Cheap shoes, I told myself, staring sadly at the blister on my big toe on Saturday.
I hobbled happily around town that day, and, thanks to magic vodka, even managed some disco flailing in the evening.
But, by Sunday, the idea of walking around Brighton defeated me. So, Lee and I went into Boots, and I threw myself on the mercy of a nice lady to help me by a padded plaster, or something.
"These are corn plasters, dear. Is it a corn? No? Well describe it... Ah, I see. Hmmn. No love, sounds like you've got a veruca. Have you been wandering around changing rooms or a swimming pool recently?"
Lee sniggered all the way home.