After the high excitement of yesterday's match, where I endured the icy cold to witness a fine late strike seal another good win for my lowly football team, the only task for today, other than catching the train back to Oxford, was to buy a pair of shoes.
It's not like me to talk about shoes. The highs and lows and ins and outs of the the fashion industry hold very little appeal for me. Why some women feel the need to have whole collections of shoes, along with matching handbags, is a mystery to me, in the same way that some women just smile pleasantly without a modicum of actual interest when I talk about football, or computers, or Stargate Atlantis.
But, I can't escape the fact that I need a new pair of shoes. You see, all shoes seem incapable of coping with the obviously unusual way I walk, and after several months of daily wear, the soles develop a noticable slope towards the inside. Now, it surely can't be good to be walking along with my feet leaning over at a forty five degree angle, or else shoes would come like that in the first place. Hence this morning's trip to TK Maxx, that famous cut price store with too many Xs in it's name, with the aim of getting hold of a decent pair of work shoes at a discount price. Only it turns out that woman are meant to wear shoes that are flat and roundy, or pointy, or flowery, or suedey, or just plain nasty, and only children are meant to wear the sort of shoes I want to have. As hard as I try, my feet just won't fit into those size threes, though I'd very much like them to, if not for style then for tax saving purposes.
So I have no new shoes. I shall walk to work tomorrow with my feet sloping at a dangerous angle. The left one in particular will turn over at the ankle at least three times, and the person walking behind me will laugh quietly.