I had it for ages, though, on the bottom of my foot. I was so stupid that I didn't know what to do about it. I brought this gel from Boots which I gleefully applied, but that just seemed to make the veruca turn white and expand. One night I was so drunk and half-crazed, I tried to dig it out with a pair of scissors. I woke up with a howling hangover, lying next to a pair of blood-stained scissors and surrounded by bits of dead veruca. It was still there, though, on the bottom of my foot, but now inside a big crater with walls of dead flesh cells. It started to infect my mind, which was already a little unbalanced at that point, so that I imagined two possibilities: 1) that the veruca would carry on growing until I was walking around on a big veruca-shaped stump rather than a left foot, like those feral pigeons you see in Soho Square or 2) it wasn't even a veruca but a slow-burning ebola strain that was going to swallow my entire foot and maybe my leg, torso, face, everything.