The Misery of Gout

Gout is such an unglamorous illness! There's the pain, not being able to wear heels and the distasteful knowledge that you have crystals of uric acid making themselves at home in your toe joint. I mean, URIC ACID!!! You might as well say you've got pee running through your veins.

So, I went to bed on Thursday night with a slight twinge in my right foot, the sort of feeling you get when you've done too much walking and your feet are really tired. I woke up at 3am in agony - my foot was so sensitive, the duvet touching it brought on a sharp, burning pain, pain so intense I couldn't get back to sleep. I lay awake until 6am, then got up, made a cup of tea and had a couple of Nurofen (a stupid time to do that really, as my alarm was due to go off at 6.40am). When it was time to get up, I didn't, I knew there was no way I'd be able to face the journey to Leeds with a furnace burning in my foot. Instead I called in sick and tried to get an appointment with the doctor. As usual, getting an audience with the Pope would have been easier (a quick kiss of his ring, some tea and a Garibaldi) and I got to see the nurse instead. She poked, prodded and pulled, then announced it was probably gout, printed off a prescription and some details to take to the hospital, telling them to test my blood and what to test it for.

I had to miss the launch party for the Scaramanga Six's new album Songs of Prey. At one point in the evening I thought it would do me good to get out of the house for a while, but I pulled on a boot and thought I might pass out from the acute pain, so that was my night out up the Swanee.

So far this year I've had to start wearing glasses (albeit stunningly stylish ones) and have contracted gout. Is this the start of the slippery slope? All in all I feel quite old and more than a little depressed.