Ouch

My feet hurt. A lot. Have gone a whole week – 7 days now without shoes. Healing very slowly. Have soaked them in salty water and now they're screaming. Pin-pricks and currents of sharp pain, stabbing hot as the infection spreads. Spent the day admiring parrots at Paradise Park – a jolly to make up for yesterday's parental neglect. Not only was it cold and wet on my bare tootsies, but the pathways were all gravel. Feel like a long-suffering pensioner with a weeping ulcerated sore. Might have to try bandaging tomorrow.

Running the gauntlet of people's judgemental stares still hard to cope with. A reminder of how intolerant of difference, we as a society are. Decided to go to the Cornwall Theatre Showcase this evening as had to drive Eddie up to Porthtowan ready for the weekend's big body boarding competition. Easy enough to nip over to Truro. Good opportunity to listen to some more of Jazz.
But still embarrassing to be at a public event unshod. Didn't think much of the talent I have to say. The play far too derivative of Kneehigh to work for me – and a really bad script.

Interviewed Angela Stoner as well today – useful insight into alternative routes into publishing I thought. So now I have to write up two articles for the 'About Writing' section. Terrific. Plus the homework – Cannibal essay, and internal focaliser piece of prose. And write my personal bloc team profile. Not forgetting the piece of writing Suzy's asked us to do that will be used as an editing exercise, as well as to use research techniques. Hate the topic though. Hate childhood memory stuff. Always painful. Choice of a bedroom even worse. Will just have to get on with it I guess. Remember the nice things. Think of the wisteria.