I need to lose weight. Seriously, I do. I'm far too heavy. Of course I knew I was too heavy, as over the last ten years I've steadily progressed from a healthy size 12 to a depressing size 16, but I was somehow able to close my eyes to it, not think about it, not do anything about it. But this afternoon, when they put me on the scales during my preop examination, and I saw the needle point towards the 90 kilograms...I literally fell off them in shock. I'm 20 kilograms overweight -- that's a whopping 3 stone, or almost!

I am deeply, deeply ashamed.

How do I get rid of this excess baggage before the end of the year? Will starving myself, or eating nothing but soup and yoghurt from this day forward, do the trick? Should I join WeightWatchers? Exercise? I hate exercise if it means running or weight-lifting or both...How about if I take up tae kwon do?

Anyway, while waiting to speak to the anaesthesiologist, I leafed through my file. Decyphering my orthopaedic surgeon's handwriting wasn't easy, but as far as I could tell he intends to do a ligament-plasty and something I could only read as 'reving' (though that's not a proper Dutch word and I have no idea what is meant by it) of the plantar tendon when I go under the knife on July 9th. Not a word about removing the exostosis for which I had initially been referred to him. So I went down and talked to his assistant, who promised to pass on my question and get back to me as soon as possible, on my mobile. Of course, I haven't heard a peep yet.

Coming back up to Anaesthesiology, I was just in time to see the anaesthesiologist step out onto the hallway and call my name. My consultation lasted all of 5 minutes, and we agreed that I would have the surgery under a 'regional' anaesthetic, i.e., I will get an epidural and my bottom half will become immune to pain for about 3 hours.

Then I was sent up to the ward for a little chat with one of the nurses, a surly young man who first kept me waiting for 40 minutes, then went over the forms I'd filled in at home, kept coming back to the fact that I hadn't listed any medication (I'm not ill! why should I have any?), and finally snapped that I would be responsible for bringing my own crutches. I was flabbergasted: they don't hand them out in Dutch hospitals? Thank heaven I've still got the ones Manchester Royal Infirmary generously donated to me back in October 2004.