How big’s a foot? About a foot.

Although I’m in danger of this becoming a foot blog [disappears off into Google to see if such a thing exists]…

Further to my last post, I have found a good use for large feet. The lovely Sarah and I have been looking at moving house lately, and have been trying to make sense of Estate Agents’ details for various properties. Is that kitchen big enough? Just how good is a 17ft living room?

It turns out that my foot is exactly a foot long. This comes in very hand for measuring things. Although Sarah contested the idea that my feet are 12 inches long, when she stopped laughing an appointed measuring device proved me right. Therefore I have spent much of the last few days pacing up and down the living room imagining various bits of houses whilst looking like I’m featuring on one of those Police, Camera, Brutality shows on Cable taking a drink-driving test in America.

There is an added bonus – it is widely believed that the measurement of a foot was set by Henry VIII. Therfore, I have regal feet.

Fresh in their newfound royal status, my feet were given the freedom of the coffee table, released from the confines of the sock. I’m not saying my feet should be modelling for Reebok or M&S, but I like to think they’re nice-looking feet. But again, here Sarah had a bone of contention. Or, technically, a tendon of contention.

Apparently my feet look like they are in a perpetual state of tension. They never relax. This is shown, says Sarah, by a large tense line standing out above the join of my big toe to my foot.

Being as I am, unable to move my toes they certainly can’t exercise the tension out of themselves. I’ve never been able to wiggle or bend my toes. I know I should be able to do so, but it’s like someone forgot to include the wiring to connect my toes to my brain. I can think and think until my face looks like I’m trying to calculate the circumference of a circle in my head, or fathom out why Giles Brandreth is famous, but it’s now good. They just defiantly sit there immobile.

Now, I’m no expert, but how does a foot look relaxed? A comfy chair? Nice book? Glass of Chianti?

I put it to you, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, that my toes are in fact too relaxed. The little piggies just won’t move at all.