I'm wearing plastic shoes. I've not worn plastic shoes before. I'm a bit of a snob. I've always gone for leather.
Until we had a carnivorous son I was a vegetarian. Vegetarians, I've noticed, tend to prefer leather. A contradiction. The link is ecological. For all that cows are very nice beasts, it wouldn't be good to fill the world with cattle - cattle fumes, land for grazing. Plastic comes from oil. Unlike cattle - which might multiply almost infinitely; oil once used - is used. Pom. Plastic should be reserved for useful things like hospital equipment - should it not? Not wasted on shoes!
Yet, here I am, clicking around in huge plastic shoes - white ones. Plastic shoes decorated with gaudy pink roses.
Blame it on garden centres. We'd gone for a birthday present for my mother in law. I added lobelia for me to our list - and noticed plastic shoes on a stand.
We went back for . . . I don't think we went back for anything better than a coffee but, while we wondered why garden centres have taken to constructing cafes . . . we picked up a little succulent to put at the front of a bed - and I couldn't help noticing the plastic shoes.
Meanwhile, the weather got hotter and hotter. It's been a bit of a shock. I tried to buy sandals (leather, of course) but the only ones which fitted (the only ones without ten inch block heels) . . . had been decorated with shiny gems and frilly bits and general, embarrassing tat.
The garden centre, I remembered . . . had plastic shoes.
So we went back . . . and bought a cup of coffee each . . . and a pink and white penstemon . . . and a pair of the most comfortable shoes I've ever worn - clumpy, huge, pierced with large holes to let the breeze through, £10 - and plastic. I've worn nothing else since. (Except gardening gloves.) (And clothes.)
|An irrelevant toothbrush.|