Monday 5 December 2011

Patent Kurt's Hurts

OK I admit it, I haven't written because I’ve been sulking. Not only has my foot been giving me some proper aggro as the nerve has been going through the ‘I’m awake and I’m angry, what did you do to me, freeze me? I’m awake and I’m angry’ cycle. Then to top it off, I received confirmation that I didn’t get in to the London Marathon next year. I cancelled the hotel room in the huff. You can shove yer Premier Inn right in.

I couldn’t even get a place on a golden bond, even pledging to raise two grand isn’t enough to get you in. I bet some ‘K’ list celebrity that’s slept with someone who knows someone that’s worked with someone on the X Factor has got a place. They’ll be there at the opening of an envelope on the Friday night in Hoxton, necking glasses of Moet and Chandon and gromfing down plate after plate of some posh grub that I’m too bitter to remember the name of and then they’ll be trotting down the Strand on the Sunday, after taking twelve hours to do the marathon. Perhaps if you hadn’t had to stop off every fifteen minutes to touch up your lippy darling, you might have done it in less than seven hours. Pah.

‘Bitter, party of one’

It’s probably for the best though, given the amount of thrashing the nerve is giving me at the moment. I was so huffy that I thought 'sod it' and tortured myself by wearing the most amazingly, gorgeous pair of patent Kurt Geiger shoes I will ever own to a beautiful winter wedding last week. It’s not gone unnoticed that I have no photos of me on the day as the wife of the best man, however I do have two random photos on my phone of my feet in said shoes (exhibit A and B attached m'lud) To give me some dues they were taken before we had a sherry or two to toast the happy couple......and the brilliant best man’s speech.

Ahhhh, yes I remember these shoes, purchased about five years ago from House of Fraser at Meadowhell. They should have been well over a hundred quid but I spotted them at a reduced, bonzer price of £49. To be fair, there probably aren’t any pixie footed freaks out there that they’d fit, other than me. They are teen-mc-weeny and they make me almost tall, well tall-ish….less than small, let’s stick with less than small.

After wearing them for approximately thirteen hours last Saturday, including at least an hour having a good old boogie to Dazzling DJ Dave my feet were squealing with delight to be set free of the corsets that had bound them for so long and both my feet were shall we say, a tad on the 'sore' side on the Sunday. Thankfully I didn’t have to get up and toddle off for Marathon training.

Perhaps the ballot outcome wasn’t so bad
after all.
Pah!

1 comment:

  1. aw fuck, don't let the bastards get you down love!
    another well written post as usual. chin up!

    ReplyDelete