He's Got Fashion

Quite aside from the pain and discomfort my double toenailectomy is causing me, and the enforced absence of work that has come in its wake, the operation has seen me commit some heinous crimes against fashion.

Whilst I am no slave to fashion, I'm usually fairly well turned out and groomed. But being in a situation where I can't put shoes on means that I'm currently waging a one-man war on sartorial elegance.

For lounging about the house, I've been going barefoot, save for the arresting bandages that cover both my big toes. But on my rare forays beyond the confines of Dungroanin', I need something sturdy underfoot.

I'm not averse to wearing sandals whilst roaming the beaches of some Mediterranean, Caribbean or Pacific paradise, but I'm not renowned for wearing them on Scottish soil. I'm even less well known for strutting around the streets of Montrose or Aberdeen whilst wearing a pair of sandals.

There's good reason for this: (sandals + Scotland) x February = bloody cold toes.

However, needs must, and on my expeditions to the nurse to have my dressings changed, I've slipped into a pair of sandals left over from my honeymoon almost two years ago.

But, on the occasions since the operation that Mrs Wife and I have sought entertainment outwith the homestead, I've decided to spare the residents of Aberdeen the sight of my hobbit feet. Unfortunately, as I've already noted, I can't yet fit shoes on my feet.

I can, however, slip a loose pair of thermal socks over them.

And so, I've been seen in public on two separate occasions wearing black thermal socks and grey sandals. At the same time.

I can only hope that no-one I know has seen me commit such an offence. This fashion disaster has been accentuated by the fact that today marked the first day in a week in which I have shaved.

As I have been excused attendance at the office over the past week, I've been rather lax in my face-scraping duties, and so, for the first time since I started shaving half a lifetime ago, I've had a six-day beard.

I'd like to say that I looked like John Lennon circa 1969 or Jim Morrison in 1971, but sadly, even after almost a whole razor-free week, I looked more like a teenager trying to grow a beard for the first time in a lame attempt to get served at the local off licence.

So, if anyone is in the Aberdeen or Montrose areas over the next few days and sees a limping man wearing black socks and sandals and scratching at a patchy beard, don't be alarmed. Just be sympathetic.