The God Daughter, has the most phenomenal finger nails I have ever seen. They are long and polished and sometimes bejewelled. I wonder how it is possible to be a working Mother with these finger nails. The God Daughter is a tour de force and has probably taught her children the importance of being able to deliver a good manicure as part of their preparation for pre-school.

I confess that I am jealous of the God Daughter when it comes to finger nails.

I long for the well manicured hand like those of my friends who are inclined, and able, to do this for themselves. I am not organised enough to book a manicure and have an in built aversion to discussions about where I am going on my holidays, or where I have been on my holidays or whether or not I was waxed for my holiday or want to book to have my hair ripped out by the roots as part of the preparation for going on holiday.

I am unsure what my hands look like in comparison to the gold standard of the well manicured hand and suspect that not everyone has as much of the detritus of their sinks under their finger nails as me. I could be wrong about this.

The manicure is largely limited to a quick swipe with an emery board and a dab of hand cream. I think that’s passable. Feet though. Well feet are another matter altogether.

At a time when I could see my finger nails in front of my face I still knew what my feet looked like. Nowadays my feet are an overseas dependency. Toe nails are invisible. What I dream of is feet that can be taken out in public and are not a shrine to talons and scales. How do you avoid having the feet of a dragon when you are thinking of being a kitten?

You might take yourself off for a pedicure and polish. It never seems to offer the vigour required to alleviate the dragon in me. What is required is a trip to the podiatrist. I imagined, briefly, once, that not being able to see your feet would qualify you for NHS podiatry.

“Can’t you ask a friend to cut your toe nails?” said the GP.

“Would you ask your friends to cut your toe nails?” I snorted.

She took my point.

Every NHS Clinical Commissioning Group sets its own rules about who gets access to podiatry. Mine operates on a points system: You can score a possible sixty-four points. You need thirty-two to qualify to get your toe nails cut on the NHS. Points are accumulated by means of having long term conditions like poor circulation, ulcers, arthritis, diabetes and so forth.

Its tough luck if being blind is the only bar to cutting your own toe nails. You only get sixteen points for being blind and that’s not enough to qualify you. You will simply have to ask a friend or pay £40.00 every time you get your toe nails cut. At the rate my nails grow, I calculate that the average annual cost of about £400. My local Clinical Commissioning Group is rated as “in need of improvement”

I calculate that I would be better off putting the God Daughter’s children through Beauty School rather than pre-school. They would have a skill for life and I’m sure I would find ways of helping them express eternal gratitude for my generosity.

The God daughter and I agree on a lot. What a pity she could not see the merits of this scheme. I have not seen her since I suggested it. She is probably giving herself a manicure.