I put my shiny, new, pampered feet to good use over the weekend by stomping them up and down staircases with boxes and bags, helping a friend to move flats.
I'm not that much of a tyrannical taskmaster though. I allowed my feet some respite from time to time:
On Saturday afternoon I treated them to hanging out at the Beaconsfield bar on Green Lanes for the Arsenal v. Manchester United match. My feet were Gunning for Arsenal of course, even though the team didn't play as well as United. In the evening, my feet lounged around at a friend's birthday party in The Lounge in Brixton, where we got cornered by a man moaning about the reasons why he couldn't finish his PhD -- without realising that he was surrounded by three of us who had -- and about the company I work for.
On Sunday, we were still moving things, but managed to find time for a leisurely big fried breakfast, including bubble and squeak, at a cafe in Pimlico and later some delicious baklava dripping honey in the Antepilier cafe on Green Lanes. We always find time to eat.
We took the night off from boxes and dust to watch Abbas Kiarostami's wondrous Taste of Cherry at the NFT, featuring the enigmatic and morose Mr Badii driving round the barren hills above Tehran, giving lifts to men he hopes will bury him after his suicide. The film focusses on his encounter with three men with different philosophical views on suicide and death. An absorbing masterpiece of subtlety and humour.
Despite the respites, my feet and I were exhausted by the end of the weekend. I think tonight I will lie in bed all evening and catch up with Desperate Housewives and the weekend's newspapers.
"I have too much respect for my audience to tell them complete stories," Abbas Kiarostami tells The Telegraph. "I want them to be involved in the narrative process, sharing the director's chair with me, so I leave my films half-made."