shoes 13 May 2008
I had to face an audience tonight as MC for a fundraiser. So I did the decent thing and put on a face and a frock…and the swanky pair of high heels. They made perfect sense at the top of the evening, so much so that I had the usual eejit ‘why don’t I wear these more often?’ thoughts. By the interval I had intimations as to why not and by the end I was crippled. But there comes a time when it would be counter productive to take the damn things off. For one thing, they probably wouldn’t go on again. And even if they did the agony would be doubled or worse. I remembered my days as a student at Trinity College in Dublin when i insisted on staggering across the cobbled Front Square in teetering heels. I was clearly made of sterner stuff then. When you think of the abuse your poor old feet take in a lifetime you have to applaud how well they last. A tooth can be replaced, with a foot it’s less easily done, and still we put them through hell. Mind you, it’s not right to single out the heels for their villainy – I bought what looked like a wide, funky and comfortable pair of flats recently and after walking about for only half an evening in them had to resort to plasters to shield the tender bits they had hurt and/or skinned. I am still looking at the marks they left, and them seeming the most innocent pair of brogues you could meet in a day’s walk…
