Good news!

I am very excited. There has been a new development in my life and I am extremely happy about it.

Possible options:
1. Romance blossoming
2. New career opportunity
3. Painless liposuction offered free of charge by kindly doctor
4. Suddenly-discovered ability to walk in high heels without discomfort
5. Lottery win despite not having purchased ticket
6. Book deal despite not having sent manuscript to anyone
7. Unexpectedly asked to play leading role in excellent new film
8. Unexpected and vast inheritance from recently deceased and, until now, unknown relative
9. Unexpected invitation to holiday in Mauritius, all expenses paid

All possibilities, yes. But not realites just yet. Instead, the truth is thus: I have a running injury, and I have never felt more glamorous.

When I was jogging near Charlie's on Saturday morning, the terrain was mostly grassy instead of the concrete or treadmill surface to which I am accustomed. Later in the afternoon, the outside edge of my left foot started aching quite badly. I rested it on Sunday and Monday, and last night, went for my 9km circuit after work, last completed about 10 days earlier. Approximately half way through the course, somewhere near Lambeth Bridge, my foot started to be slightly uncomfortable, but I pushed on and made it back, an entire minute faster than last time. By the time I'd showered, I was hobbling like a seasoned sufferer of rheumatoid arthritis. On arriving home, I was in agony. And this morning, I was forced to wear sensible shoes rather than the glamorous high heels I was planning to don for my evening out tonight.

But: I'm happy as Larry. This is my first ever sporting injury and I am delighted. Of course, last night, when I was hobbling from the gym to the tube, wincing with every step, I just looked like a curvy, red-faced girl who was suffering from bad blisters caused by unsuitable shoes. I was tempted to change back into my damp gym kit to prove that my lameness had been brought on by a vigorous, high-octane exercise regime and not through the lack of support in my cheap Barratts slip-ons, but managed to resist the urge. Today I am still hobbling with pride, fully aware that a Nurofen would hit this discomfort on the head but keen to revel in the pain brought on by my healthy lifestyle. I am exaggerating the limp as far as possible and now look like a cross between post-marathon Paula Radcliffe and Quasimodo, but still sexy in an understated way. Girls, if you didn't envy me already, you should now.