And doesn't she know it.

The sole of my shoe is, I do believe, mere minutes away from detaching itself and leaving my foot free to explore the glorious tactile world of a Mancunian pavement.

Lumpy cigarette ends, jagged broken pieces of supposedly-ha! shatter-proof bus shelter glass and soft pools of scally-phlegm-gob will all be ready and waiting for my right foot to explore at its leisure on the way home from work, if not today, then tomorrow because I'm obviously not going to do anything so sensible as to wear another pair of shoes to work tomorrow in case my prediction comes true - these are my work shoes, after all...