Thursday's happy feat of heeling might have set my sole free, but at this rate it could end up sounding the death knell for this blog. For the past eight months, my foot has been so painful that no matter where in Sussex I was working, how beautiful the surrounding countryside might be, and how appealing the local charity shops, I've been forced to stay in at lunchtime, unable to hobble more than fifty yards from my consulting room without two ibuprofen and a wheelchair. It means that since Christmas, I've been writing a lot of my blog posts during my lunch break, and just finishing them off in the evening.

But all that's changed this week. Far from nursing a dodgy foot in the nearest outpatients department, I spent my lunch break today walking back to happiness across Horsham Park, and heading straight for the town centre to pump the British Heart Foundation for an arresting outfit. It might have only been a round trip of a mile, but it's the furthest I've walked this year, and I did it with virtually no pain or after-effects. It's like a miracle. If there was a religion based on guided steroid injections, I'd be well and truly converted. I feel quite evangelical about it. I'm tempted to get out there on the streets of Britain and start telling people how steroids saved my sole, but I don't want to get caught up with all the looters.

Unfortunately, the downside of this miracle is that it's rapidly approaching my bedtime and I haven't written anything meaningful today. Which probably isn't that different to any other day - it just feels it. So in the absence of anything non-podiatric to say, here are the results of the 2011 Intergenerational Funny Face Competition, which took place in the bedroom today when I got home from work...



Amelie might have scored highly on style, performance and technical merit, but I definitely won the photography round.