A month ago I had my left big toenail removed. It didn’t hurt at the time, but once the anaesthetic had worn off, it throbbed nastily for a few days. These things take a long time to heal and even now, when I change the bandage, the toe still looks raw and mushy, although I think at last a scab is beginning to form. I expect I will survive! Though dancing and swimming are definitely off the agenda for a few more weeks.

We all know that things that happen in our youth can affect some of us many years later, whether physically or mentally. We brush off minor accidents when we are young and put aside thoughts of the consequences our actions or the sports we play might have when we grow older. For example, doing high jump in athletics at university meant landing on hard ground (no soft mattress then) and this has taken its toll on my ankles.

The damage to my toe happened in my twenties, and I thought nothing of it. In my diary (have kept diaries through my life) for the 3 months I spent in Indonesia in 1971, I looked up the incident. In February, I had travelled by bus from Medan in Sumatra up to a small town n the Karo Highlands called Berastagi, which is, with colourful flower, fruit, and vegetable markets and refreshing mountain air, much cooler than on the coast. In the late afternoon I wandered out of town to a hill about 30 minutes away, from where there were amazing view of two huge smoking volcanoes.

Here I met some local tribespeople, the Karo Batak, who were very shy, but curious about me. One of them with his horse ventured a bit closer. The horse was a bit too curious and shied into me. In my diary, I recorded laconically: “Horse stepped on my foot”. No further detail is mentioned, although I do recall laughing (amidst the pain), to put them at ease, and thinking that there wasn’t much I could do about it. I limped back to town and didn’t bother to see a doctor. The nail came off, and in time grew back rather wonky. I ignored my ugly left toe for years, but recently it became evident that the distorted nail needed removing permanently. Job now done.

I have just spent a fascinating hour reading a battered diary of my travels through Indonesia over 50 years ago, when very few foreigners (especially women) travelled among the Batak hill peoples of Northern Sumatra. Looking back, it now seems a tad foolhardy, but I loved it at the time, and remember Indonesia as once of the most beautiful and fascinating places I have ever visited.

Mount Sibayak in Northern Sumatra.