Will was volunteering as a guinea pig in a research study today - which involved being paid for playing computer games and doing puzzles - result! - so we set off early into Cambridge. I thought I should try to like a smart and sensible mum, so it was nice wool trousers, shirt and jumper, which meant it had to be the black boots with the high heels since the trousers are 2 inches too long and I know I'd make a pig's ear of it if I tried to turn them up.
While Will was contributing to modern science I called into Johnson's to pick up some dry cleaning and my my All Time Favourite Boots, which were in to be repaired. But the assistant shook her head sadly as she handed me the stricken boots. Pinned to the worn black leather was a note from the cobbler. Scrawled across the paper was a single word, hand-written in capital letters.
UNREPAIRABLE!
Cue total devastation! These are not just any boots. They are my old friends. I have worn them everyday from the beginning of September to the end of April for the last six years. But apparently the leather is badly split and could not be restitched. Biting back the tears I picked up my carrier bags, put on a brave face and shuffled out in the chill of the snow-smattered morning.
Then home, for a quick change into old jeans and wellies to take the dogs for a walk, pausing mid-stride every now and then to admire my smart new jade-green Hunter wellies and muttering darkly to myself as I waded through the mud about Second Opinions and Timpsons and anyway, shouldn't the morphologically correct term be IRREPARABLE, not UNREPAIRABLE?
Then back into the wool trouser and heeled boot combo to pick Will up, a short interlude of slippers, wellies again for the afternoon dog walk, and finally, back into Cambridge for a friend's fund-raising disco.
On with the dancing shoes!
