I FEEL A RIGHT HEEL (WELL, I WISH I
DID....)
Life is full of uncertainties. The
weather, train times, plumbers who may or may not arrive, the
difference between first and second class post, what politicians
actually mean, that recipe you've cooked successfully ten times and
suddenly tastes like something from McDonalds. We get used to not
knowing from a very early age. Adults saying one thing and doing
another, children tricking you into eating a 'sweet' made of soap,
those dark stories about the possible non-existence of Santa. We
learn to distrust much of the world, reconcile ourselves to ambiguity
and anxiety, accept that bewilderment and conjecture form a large
part of the fabric of our lives.
Yet there are also things we come to
depend on, which provide fixed points we can rely on to give us
exactly what we expect them to. Night will follow day. Rain is wet.
Cats are enigmatic. Barry Cryer always has the best jokes. Tories
are evil bastards. Alcohol will always be there for you. Some
things just ARE.
Somewhere in between those two end
points, but, you'd hope, nearer to the latter, are shoes. Now I know
that people's choice of footwear can take strange turns and that, on
the face of it, DMs have little, visually, in common with Jimmy
Choos. The sandal does not perform quite the same functions as the
desert boot and steel toecaps are not generally considered
appropriate for running marathons. All these varieties have their
roles in life and context determines their suitability. So if I'm
going to talk sensibly about shoes then I need to provide a bit of
definition. Sensibly being the key word for I am concerned here with
the dreaded 'sensible' shoe.
Now 'sensible' as an adjective for
'shoe' will conjure up a diverse selection of images. For some
readers it will be the black brogues your mum crammed you into to go
to school. For others it means a three inch heel instead of six.
One person's sense is another's torture instrument. As you go
through life the attraction of 'sensible' over 'fashion' can grow
considerably, often depending on how much damage 'fashion' did in the
first place. Comfort means a lot more to the person who has
inflicted a life of constriction and pain upon their ill-favoured
tootsies. So I will now attempt to provide a definition of sensible
which allows me to move my story forward.
Is there a common sense 'sensible' with
reference to footgear? A few basic parameters may help. They should
fit the foot of the wearer. Comfortably fit, as opposed to "Oooh,
aah, yes that fits OK" complete with grimace. They should
provide a bit of protection from the rain, not soak socks at the hint
of a puddle. A sole with a bit of grip would be nice. And you
should have no difficulty walking a mile in them (please always treat
the expression "walk a mile in my shoes" as purely
metaphorical). Finally, a concession to fashion, they should look
like shoes should look like rather than suggesting that the wearer
has slipped his feet into a couple of leftover pasties. Leather is a
plus, colour your own choice. Are we there yet? I think that about
covers it.
These are shoes to bring a modicum of
certainty to life. Of course in time the heel will wear down, maybe
a bit of stitching will start to work loose, the leather may crack
and make you look like you're in that Oxfam phase of life. But there
will be warnings of all these eventualities, should you choose to
heed them. Sensible shoes are more reliable than our cars, but not
quite as unchanging as Jeremy Clarkson's arrogance. On the whole
they won't let you down.
So I set off from home this morning in
a pair of shoes that I felt sure met our sensible definition. Dark
brown, thick cleated soles, Clarks by name, veterans of many miles as
comfortable companions. Very much winter shoes, brought out when the
cold and dark and damp arrives. This was their second outing of the
season and I had no augury or premonition of calamity, no reason to
doubt my reliance on their assisting my progress and repelling the
elements.
Within a few hundred yards I sensed
doubt. The heels felt particularly spongy, springy, giving where
their role should have been support. I walked on, conscious of the
need to reach my destination on time. The odd feeling continued,
getting less springy and more spongy, less certain and more like
there were frogs in conflict with my shoes' desire to carry out their
sole purpose in life. Outside the doors of the shop I was headed for
I stopped and lifted a foot for inspection and beheld the horror of a
crumbling heel, evidently ready to make a break for a solo existence.
Further review showed the rest of the sole to be contemplating
joining its rearward element in escape. Whilst the other side, I
forget if I'd check left or right first, was in much the same shape.
This was shoe revolt of the most serious nature.
The rest is best passed over briefly,
for is there anything sadder than uncertain shoes? Both heels soon
dropped off at the mildest touch and from then on my efforts to walk
resulted in a trail of black lumps and the impression I was about to
wet myself. I left early, disgraced by my footwear, and (literally)
pained by their refusal to give me the support I thought they had
promised.
Can I ever trust shoes again?
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