Feet First

I have finally booked myself onto a course that will qualify me to be a reflexologist. I say 'finally' because I've been umming and aaaahing about the decision for a while. I mean, you have to be careful when having anything to do with feet. Feet, I have discovered, are not everyone's cup of tea.

Like when we first got chickens, for example. Many people commented on the chickeness of the chickens - like how their feathers felt more like fur, and how entertaining they were to watch with their crazy chicken antics. But there were many uncomplimentary remarks made about their feet. Along the lines of 'eeurgh, how scaly/ pointy/ scratchy/ dinosaury' they were. Chicken feet are not, apparently, their most attractive feature. I beg to differ of course, having carted chickens around for various reasons for the last two and a half years. I find it rather endearing that a chicken tucked 'neath one's arm will hook their toes around your hand to get a reassuring grip. And although their feet look scaly, they are surprisingly smooth. Like snake skin, I think.

And cat feet are lovely. Well, our cats feet are because they are indoor cats, so their pads are still soft and pink and their fur still fluffy and soft. Cat feet are very cute. Cat feet are like rabbit feet only not so lucky. Mainly because of the claws.

Anyway, I think people have the same reaction to feet as they have to Marmite. You either love'em or hate 'em. I like feet. At least I like my feet. I had a good mum who made me wear properly fitting shoes as a child and then, as an adult, I decided I didn't really like shoes so tend to go shoeless as much as possible which means my feet are in pretty good nick. And I like Baby Kayleigh's feet, too, which are very flexy and grippy and soft as a baby's feet should be. And I like Marmite. In fact, I had Marmite on toast for my lunch today, but that's by the by.

So, come September I am starting a year long course in reflexology which requires much study, many case books, and an exam at the end resulting, hopefully, in a diploma. And because I get antsy about anything that has an exam at the end, I have started studying already to give myself a bit of a head start. Or should I say 'kick start.' But if one wants to be recognised professionally in the holistic therapy world, one has to gain professional qualifications, simple as.

I've decided to follow the reflexology course with one in aromatherapy. And because aromatherapy involves a lot of chemical doo-dah malarkey, I've got a couple of books about that, too, for a bit of pre-course reading to familiarise myself with some of the concepts. So that's my life mapped out for the next two years.

And I've bought a reflexology chair! Having trawled the interwebbly for suitable equipment, and sharply sucked in my breath at the potential cost of it all, the course administrator revealed an interesting tip. 'What we recommend for students to buy,' she said, 'is a steel framed reclining garden chair.' And she named a particular brand, French, which I had already seen on the interwebbly for £110. Apparently, these chairs recline at exactly the right angle, are relatively portable and render the client's feet at the right height for treatment. 'But if you go into Wilkos,' said the course administrator, 'you'll find the exact same chair for £40.'

Well, I was off like a shot. And even better, once my porter, aka Andy, got the chair to the check-out, it was 25% off making it £30!!

The cats have tested it out already. They are not as impressed with it as they are with the sofa, or a basket of fresh laundry. And Pandora was especially not impressed when it fell on top of her and almost squished her like a bug. And much as I love the chickens and their funny little feet, reflexology is not on the menu for them. Although maybe that could be a new angle to get me ahead of the zeitgeist. Reflexology for poultry? Hmmm...