If you'd said to me back in August 2009, as I gently reclined on the couch with an electric cattle-prod up my bottom, that almost two years later to the very day, I'd be back in that same room, on that same couch, crying out in pain as a blonde woman stabbed me in the foot with some steroids, I wouldn't have believed you. Mainly because Harold Camping said we'd all be dead by now.

But sure enough, having already experienced an anal probe in an alien environment, I found myself back in the hospital's x-ray department this morning, being subjected to a bit of foot torture on the NHS. I've now had a 'guided injection' for my plantar fasciitis, which is a lot like the first one, but with pictures.

It turned out to be an experience of both good and bad news. The good news is that judging by the level of excruciating agony I experienced as the steroids swilled around my sole, she definitely hit the right spot. The bad news is that having examined my foot with an ultrasound, the doctor thinks there might be a tear in my plantar fascia. Frankly there was one in my eye too, but this one's pronounced differently.

If she's right, then the steroid injection will never completely cure the pain, because it will only treat the inflammation, not heal the tear. She did mention the possibility of foot surgery, but frankly I'd rather spend Lisa's tooth money on an electric wheelchair and have done with it. I'm not good with scalpels.

Despite all of that, I'm quite optimistic. The first injection was painful, but for a few lingering seconds, this procedure took the notion of pain to hithero unimagined realms. Frankly that pretty blonde doctor touched my sole like no woman has before, and made me scream out loud in bed for the very first time. So she must have done something right. There's surely every chance it will help.

In the meantime, I'm back on the sofa for a couple of days with an achy breaky heel and a laptop. Amelie has already asked me to remove my sock so that she can kiss my foot better, and Lisa's currently in the kitchen, making a lasagne for my tea. It's care in the community, Gardner style.