Under the knife

Distressing news from Groanin' Towers today folks - Groanin' Jock is to go under the surgeon's knife for the first time in history.

Fear not though - the surgery is a minor out-patient's op to sort an in-growing toenail.

After years of playing football, sprinting, cross country running, long jump and other foot-mangling activities, I have feet that would probably make a Hobbit vomit.

My toes are gnarled like Gollum's, and years of ignoring problems has finally taken its toll. Even by my own gruesome standards, my feet are in a poor shape. When George Best finally departed for the great off-licence in the sky, I considered writing to his estate to ask whether I could have his famed feet for use in the world's first foot transplant (fair enough, I would suggest, considering that he was given a new set of internal organs to pickle).

And so, having consulted my doctor and been pumped full of drugs, but to no avail, I have agreed to have the offending nail sliced and pulled out, and the gaping wound left in its absence 'burned clean' (the doctor's words, not mine).

Having witnessed the pain experienced by friends who have previously had troublesome toenails removed, I was expecting to be told that my foot would be mummified in bandages for a period of weeks whilst it healed.

Not so, says the doctor. I'll get two injections in the toe, the 'operation' will take less than half an hour, and I'll go straight back to work. And apparently I'll be back playing football (or pretending to at least) within a week.

But, for all the doctor's assurances, I'm still not entirely overjoyed at the prospect of a man poking about at my left foot with a sharp knife. All it need is a sneeze from me and he could be looking for a needle and thread.....