MY POOR OLD PLATES OF MEAT

My right foot has been hurting me for a while so I go to the doctor's but not before I check online what could be wrong with it of course. I was concerned it was gout owing to my gastronomic lifestyle or some kind of arthritic disease which would leave me no option but to wear some awful shoes, the kind that nuns wear, as a punishment for photographing them, the nuns, behind their backs in the name of research. Anyway, I get there and the waiting room is bedlam with patients complaining they have been waiting an hour to be seen, (it's usually only ten minutes), so I join in the mayhem and after another hour it is my turn. When I enter I see it isn't my usual GP but a locum doctor who pronounces my name correctly, which disarms me as I am more than ready for hostilities. He then asks me where I am from and I tell him I am not sure anymore what with all the upheaval in the world. We conclude that I am a mix of things and then he starts talking about the Easter Rising, Irish Republicanism, and a novel he enjoyed called the Dream of the Celt by Mario Vargas Llosa, a novelisation of the life of diplomat turned Irish nationalist Roger Casement. The doctor then goes on to explain the plot, and talks about the Belgians, the Congo, the British Foreign Office and that's only half the story and then he asks me why I am there. 'It's my foot doc', I say,' the right one'. He wants to know if I walk a lot. I tell him not too much but when he asks me how much exactly the conclusion is I walk excessively and would be better off getting a bike, less pressure on the old plates of meat. He has a butcher's at said foot and says something about 'bota', (boot) but I hear 'gota', (gout) and ask him if he thinks I have that. He tells me he doesn't think it is gout unless I drink a hell of a lot of beer. I say that I don't like beer and he tells me it is very good for you, in moderation of course, and wonders if I have tried it with some lemon. I tell him I prefer wine and we go on to talk about our preferred wines and which regions and so on and he recommends a few I haven't tried. We then start talking about Madrid versus Barcelona, politics, teaching, the 'cocido', the rustic hearty stew of Madrid, how consomme is a cure for most ills, more wines, and other things too numerous to mention and I am on the point of asking him if he would like to go for lunch but I hear raised voices outside indicating lawlessness and a hammering on the door so he rounds off with a prescription, or should I say recipe, for two types of painkiller I have yet to try, glucosamine and gel, and to 'put your foot up, read that book, and if you don't like it there are loads of others and have a nice glass of wine'. I love Spain. Happy Easter.