About this blog

This is a window into the weird world of Anglicanism, as experienced on a Cathedral Close. Has anything much happened since Trollope's Barchester Chronicles? You will still see the 'canon in residence' hurrying across to choral Evensong, robes flapping, as the late bell chimes. But look carefully and you will notice he is checking the football score on his iPhone as he runs. This is also a writer's blog. It charts the agony and ecstasy of the novelist's life. And it's a fighter's blog. It charts the agony and ecstasy of the judo mat. Well, the agony, anyway.

Sunday 29 January 2012

DAY 29--My Golden Shoes Day

Today I decided to spread a little happiness as I went by in the cathedral by wearing my golden shoes.  I got them in the Office sale a couple of years ago because they were only £5 and I didn't have any golden shoes.  I have eight pairs of blue jeans, nine pairs of black boots, but only one pair of golden shoes.  One pair is enough for anyone apart from a drag queen.  A drag queen cannot have too many pairs of golden shoes or too many feather boas.

My golden shoes have a chunky platform wedge sole.  The heel height is what the online shoe shops describe as 'mid'.  Mid heels are what you wear if you have more than 200 yards to walk, or suffer as I do from hallux rigidus (in layman's terms 'knackered big toe joint').  Shoe manufacturers seem not to know about this condition.  They assume we have renounced killer heels because we have set our dour middle-aged faces against glamour.  They assume we ask no more of a shoe than that we can get our dowdy beige middle-aged feet into them.  Navy blue court shoes.  Pah.  I spit upon navy blue court shoes.  What am I--a 1970s bishop's wife, or something?  Clearly this is what shoe makers think, or they'd be falling over themselves to make hundreds of fab killer mid heels.  We'd snap them up.  But as it is, most mid heels are irredeemably frumpy.  

Unless they are golden, that is.  Mine attracted a great many compliments at the 10.30 this morning.  Hmm.  Actually, casting my mind back, I should probably say they attracted a great many comments.  Comments which made up in voluble excitement what they lacked in actual praise.  Oh come on, we've all done it.  'Oh WOW!  Look at your GOLD SHOES!  Aren't they AMAZING?!'  

The height of the wedge opened up new trouser possibilities.  I was able to take another pair of my blue jeans collection for an outing.  They are 70s style high waist jeans, a style either immensely flattering or very cruel, depending on how tight they are on you.  Fashion hint: wear them with heels and you'll look taller and thinner.  Hence the golden shoes.  It is also still Epiphany.  If a girl can't wear golden shoes during the season of Epiphany, when can she?  


For the rest, I wore a navy blue vest top under a slinky print shirt (Diesel, from a charity shop).  This is beige with small navy blue, sage green and burgundy tadpoles on.  Or sperm?  Hard to say.  It looks a bit like the kind of fabric assistants in Woolworth's used to wear.  Not attractive, then, and I wouldn't have bought it had it not been Diesel.  Still, it was admired at a lunch time drinks party.  Genuinely admired.  I know this because the admirer said in tones of surprise, 'But this is nice'.  Implying, I fear, that she seldom thinks this about anything I wear.  I also wore a tan suede jacket, M&S (charity shop £4) and a tan skinny belt.  Skinny belts are what you wear with 70s high waisted jeans.  I read it in a magazine.

I've taken off my golden shoes now.  But if my agent rings next Monday or next Tuesday with good news about my book, I shall have another golden shoes day, tra la.

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