Shoes Glorious Shoes

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It all started when l was buying a pair of school shoes in Clarks with my Mum. I was probably about 7 years old and fell in love with a pair on the spot. They were shiny patent black, with a small strap, little pattern on the toe, and, best of all, a ‘magic key’ hidden in the sole. My mother, being a no-nonsense, practical type of person who bought ‘shoes to last’, refused my wishes, and l ended up with an unremarkable pair that l would be disappointed to put on every day.

Of course, when l reached the grand age of 15 and my mother was offering to buy me pretty shoes, l was clomping around in Dr Marten’s and army surplus boots, doing my best to imitate Courtney Love. When she had finally given up nagging me to look ‘ladylike’ ¬†(at about the age of 20) l came home from university¬†wearing the pointiest, highest stiletto ankle boots known to man. They were camo-print though, so not perhaps what she had in mind.

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Shoes, Glorious Shoes.

Since that time, my slight (!) obsession with shoes has grown and grown. I love a beautiful shoe, no matter how unwearable they are. My husband, understandably, gets more than annoyed that every house move is accompanied by several boxes full of shoes that l never wear. They are usually labelled “Shoes that are never worn”, “More F-ing shoes”, or “Why do you keep buying shoes?”. So, he was not best pleased when l returned home from ostensibly shopping for a few essentials with not one, but three more pairs of (beautiful) shoes that l stumbled across in the Zara sale.

"More F*ing Shoes!"

“More F*ing Shoes!”

After the ‘conversation’ that followed, l duly removed the pairs of shoes that l have bought, but rarely wear from the wardrobe. I was supposed to get rid of them. I have moved them to a suitcase underneath the bed for safe keeping. Shhhhhhhh…..