I’m getting better at this now. I’ve figured out how to add another blog and that means I can now tell you all about me.
So, I won’t tell you my name because this is the Internet and there’s a lot of weirdos on it (I’m not trying to offend anyone here but you know what I mean!). Anyway I’ll give you my nick name it’s Athletes Foot and I’m not called that for the obvious reason but I bet you won’t believe it if I tell you why I’ve been given that name…
Here it goes
There is no point beating around the bush you’ll either believe it or you won’t and it doesn’t matter as I’m the only one who has to live with it! When I was younger, well I should be more specific I suppose. When I was six, I was like every other young one in my village, out playing in the fields. It was summer and the sun was shining because it did that back then, and I was lying with my friend in the corn. The sky was a lovely blue, a bright, bright blue, like the Mediterranean sea though obviously in the sky. If you could put the sea in the sky that’s what it was like and the corn was a golden yellow, a happy yellow, the kind of yellow that puts a smile on your face.
So because of the yellow and the blue and the heat and the soft breeze that brushed through the corn and the general relaxed and happy feeling you only get in the summer, I fell asleep and because of my snoring and general boredom my friend ran away and because my friend ran away there was no one there to wake me when the combine harvester came plodding by and because there was no one there to wake me the first I knew of the combine harvester was the sharp, searing and generally otherworldly pain that ripped up my leg and caused my mouth to release a scream never heard before or since in that field in summer.
So to cut things short, I lost my foot to the harvesters jaw but as coincidence would have it, on that very day I lost my foot, a local world renowned plastic surgeon was home visiting his family
and heard of my plight…
When I woke three days later in my hospital bed, I had one normal foot and one extremely large, quiet out of proportion to my body, foot. A tragic accident had befallen a local family and they had lost their son, a scholarship athlete, an 800 metre wonder. The surgeon had performed a revolutionary operation and I had a foot I’d grow into.
So whether you believe it or not, that is the story of where I got my nickname, why I won every hop scotch competition I ever entered and why I have to shave my foot so it looks good in heels!
And what has this to do with design, well nothing really except this accident gave me a new passion, some might call it an obsession, to seek out the new, radical and sometimes unbelievable things that are invented everyday in this world of ours and I will bring them to you through the platform of blogging…
