My Funny Mummy: Chester Walk

A lovely day out.
Me, my mum and my daughter. A cultural feast. Culture: Tudor architecture, the River Dee and Chester City walls. Feast: Big cakes (what diet?)
Note to self: When embarking on a considerably long walk, do not choose to break back into heels. After almost nine months away from a stiletto, platform or wedge, I chose a day spent on foot (for about six hours) as the time to reintroduce myself to my leg lengthening, super slimming, blister inducing leather boots. As the familiar burning sensation in the balls of my feet returned, any irresistibly sexy, yummy mummy notions I had dreamed up when slipping on the boots that morning hastily disintegrated.
Resembling an overweight, post natal buffoon, I shuffled, hulking and ungainly, around pedestrians and traffic. I expertly used each agonising step to carefully impale my raw tooties further onto my skewer style heels. If only I’d packed a couple of peppers for the journey, I could have knocked out some cracking toe kebabs. Would have gone down at treat in one of the chic, river bank bistros. Ordinarily (i.e. pre-pregnancy) my feet are completely deadened by a cocktail of night out shoes, half marathons, ingrowing toenail surgery and a liberal, hardy, resilient layer of dead skin, so a six hour march round a city would qualify as only low-level torture in my vast catalogue of harrowing foot ordeals. Beyond the foot terrors, the tension of balancing precariously on heel along the precipice of the River Dee was topped only by a stroll up the damp, moss coated, ludicrously slippy steps of the City Walls. Carrying one end of a pram. Great fun.
During the fleeting moments in which I was able to ignore my raw, lesioned feet, it was a fab day. My two favourite ladies, a gorgeous, fresh October day, cuddles, cafes, jokes and chatting.
Unfortunate I was forced to conclude the day with self amputation.