Long legs

It must be awful to have long legs, and especially on trains, where there is nowhere to put them and nothing you can do but spread those legs to their fullest extent and ram them into the person sitting next to you. It must be so uncomfortable to have your hot sweaty thighs pressed against someone else.

It's the sort of thing that would make you embarrassed so that you open up your big broadsheet newspaper and try to cover up your legs, even if that does mean intruding right over your neighbour's lap and jabbing them in the ribs with your elbows every time you turn a page.

And imagine how awkward it is when someone insists on trying to get off the train and wants you to move your legs out of their way.

I'm so glad that I don't have long legs.

I wish I didn't have to sit next to people who do.

Old ladies' feet

That's what I've got now - old ladies' feet.

I noticed it when I put my sandalled feet up on the coffee table. They're knobbly. It isn't just rough skin that could be rubbed and moisturised away. My feet actually look like a collection of odd bones stuffed into a skin bag. They stick out in odd places and at odd angles. And the toenails are going thick and scaly.

It's been difficult buying sandals for a while, having to be careful that the most sticky-out bones are hidden and not protruding through between the straps. Does this mean that I have to start buying old ladies' sandals - cream and solid with lacing up the front? And thick nearly-flesh-coloured tights?

Or would some of those lovely gladiator or wrapped sandals (there's a lovely pair in Clarks) do the trick?