New Boots and Panties

Well, I lied about the panties...

It doesn’t seem all that long ago that I was strutting around the office in killer heels. Today, on those increasingly rare occasions where I have to don ANY sort of heel, I break out in a cold sweat. It wasn’t always like this. I think my relationship with heels finally hit rock bottom on the day of son #1’s graduation ceremony. Here’s what happened:

The ceremony was to take place in the Methodist Central Hall, Westminster. For those not familiar with central London, the location is more or less opposite Westminster Abbey, Just around the corner from the Palace of Westminster and Big Ben.

In June each year, and into July, Universities all over the country have their graduation ceremonies, and those without a campus or a big enough hall are forced to find alternative accommodation for the event.  In central London, the Methodist Central Hall must do a roaring trade, as son#1’s university was holding its graduation ceremonies in shifts. Our shift was the afternoon one.  Things were on quite a tight schedule, so the morning shift were pouring out in their rented caps and gowns into the June sunshine, looking for the best spots to take photos even as the afternoon shift started to arrive.

TH works in the Metropolis, and son#1 lives there, so they were both more or less on the spot. I had to travel in from Nowhere-on-Thames by train, decked out in my Sunday Best, complete with the dreaded heels.  It had been a while since I was required to wear heels, and although I visit a number of companies as part of my job, and manage to dress appropriately in business attire, I’m usually only required to totter from my car to an office, sit down for an hour or so, then totter back to the car and drive home, where I can slip into something more comfortable straight away. On this day, I was required to totter a lot further.

The tottering was all going rather well. I’d tottered all the way to the station (OK, it’s only about 100 metres from our house) and then I’d tottered to the tube, off the tube, down a maze of tunnels and corridors until finally I surfaced onto the Westminster pavement.  “It’s like riding a bike” I was thinking to myself, as I tottered along the pavement adjacent to Westminster Abbey.  Only by now, my confidence was growing, and the totter had become more of a purposeful stride. I was feeling quite proud of myself, and, as we all know, pride comes before.....

On my right, across the road, several hundred newly-minted graduates were enjoying the sunshine with their peers and parents. On my left, a coach was disgorging a tour group of Japanese tourists, and the queue for the Westminster Abbey Gift shop was snaking along towards the entrance.  And in the midst of the throng, I suddenly hit a bump in the pavement, staggered like a newborn giraffe and collapsed in a heap onto the pavement.  I don’t know if it was my imagination, but I could actually feel the shutters of several dozen cameras......Picking myself up and checking that there was no real damage, I adopted the best approach for such situations,  learned from my years of working in Central London, and carried on as if I’d fully intended to fall over, and that nothing could have been more normal. I think I pulled it off....

Crossing the road to meet up with TH and son#1, I was annoyed to discover that the road immediately outside the Methodist Central Hall is among the few streets in central London which is still cobbled. This I found rather sadistic. Negotiating cobbles in killer heels, especially after a recent wardrobe malfunction, is no easy feat.  I went back to tottering and hanging on to TH as if my life depended on it, until finally the ceremony and celebrations were over and I could totter home and consign  the heels to the back of the wardrobe, where they have remained ever since.

Now, as winter is finally upon us, and indeed for the last few months, I have stuck to wearing Sensible Shoes. Or, to be more precise, Sensible Boots.  Nice, flat, warm, comfortable Ugg boots, to be precise.

I know the Ugg divides opinion, but I’ve had a pair on the go pretty much all the time since 1982. I bought my first pair in Melbourne when I lived for a short spell in Australia, and in those days I don’t think anyone would have been seen dead wearing them outdoors. The first time I saw anyone wearing a pair outside, I was staying in a hotel in the centre of Paris in the early 90’s, and the wearer was a man with dreadlocks. It was probably another four or five years before I saw anyone else wearing them outdoors, and then, all of a sudden, everyone was doing it.  In the spirit of “if you can’t beat ‘em” etc., I joined ‘em.

My last pair came from a shop in Stansted airport. There’s a very good reason for this. Off with TH for a few days in France, I donned the then current pair, ready to leave for the airport, and popped out quickly on a rather wet morning to walk the dog. On my return,  my feet were cold. This is not normal when wearing Ugg boots, so I slipped one off to investigate, only to discover that the sole had split. Closer inspection revealed that BOTH soles had split. However, by this time, TH was revving up the car for the journey to the airport, and in a fit of last-minute panic, I grabbed two Tesco carrier bags and some dry socks and jumped into the car. Having swapped my wet socks for a dry pair, I stuck my feet in the carrier bags and resolved to deal with things once we were in France, where I have spare shoes. Imagine my embarrassment, then, when we arrived at Stansted, only to find that part of the security procedure for getting to the gate involved the removal of all footwear! So, there I was, standing barefoot in the security queue, trying to look nonchalant with both feet encased in carrier bags. Oh, the shame!  Once airside, I headed for the nearest shoe shop, and persuaded TH that I’d like a new pair of Uggs as an early Christmas present.

THAT pair lasted me three years. Until last Friday, in fact. I was heading up to London again, this time to meet son#1 and TH to go for a birthday meal. No tottering for me this time. Oh no siree! It was an Ugg day. By far the best footwear for tramping the streets of London. All was well until TH and I arrived back at the station, and were walking the dark pavements back to the house. All of a sudden, a lump shot up out of the pavement, tripped me up and I stumbled forwards. No harm done, no baby giraffe moment, no camera shutters...well, it was dark! Got home, looked down.....and realised that the fall had pushed my toe straight through the upper of my Ugg and there was a gaping furry hole in the top of my boot, exposing my toe to the elements.

Luckily, the sales are still on. Since the Ugg became the footwear of choice for so many people, they’re normally out of my price range and require some saving up for. It was with great joy, then, that I found a pair in my size in a local shoe shop, and not only that, but they were half price!! And so, my feet can remain warm and happy and there’ll be no tottering in the near future. I love a happy ending!