My only consolation is that it feels so damn good to take them off at the end of the day
I don’t mean to boast, but I’ve got lovely legs. They are easily my best feature. But – there’s a but – while my right leg is simply perfect, and my left leg is good down to the knee, what comes below that is a proper old mess.
It was more than 30 years ago, playing in goal in a cup tie at Amersham Town, that I broke my left leg. “Impressive,” said the radiologist of the X-rays. I spent seven months in plaster and it was a year before I could walk without a stick. Even then, I wasn’t out of the woods.
Adrian Chiles is a Guardian columnist
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