In some strange way, I am sort of glad that I have managed to procure myself an evil case of athlete’s foot. You see, it’s probably the only sporting ‘accolade’ I will ever receive.

A natural born loser, having been the child who always came last at school sports day, the person who always potted the black at the wrong time in a game of pool, the card player who can never complete a game of patience, I have always consigned myself to never owning, let alone filling a trophy cabinet. To me, this case of athlete’s foot is my bronze medal, my engraved tankard, it is my ironic prize for being inept at competition; a sports-based ailment.

Of course, if there was such a thing as swimmer’s wind or jogger’s sinuses, I’d be a gold medallist by now!