The time has come

I've been holding out for as long as I could but it's six months since the cryo and there's still an equal amount of discomfort in my left foot and my wallet from paying for the surgery. So it's time. Time to start off loading the herd.
They've been sat there under the stairs longer than Harry Potter; and now they need to go. Not only are they a constant reminder that I haven't been running since April 2009 but the woodlice have set up an 'Occupy' site behind the boxes. I'm not sure what tyranny I've imposed upon them but they're unhappy, something about giving a 'Bonus' to the dog. I've tried to explain it's the name of a biscuit but they're not having it.

The shoes are going on ebay and they're going on this week. It's going to be a mammoth task getting a large number of items up there, plus I'll have to set aside a day to take them to the Post Office to send them. It's a village Postie, they don't allow more than 10 items at a time. I know, I know, 'how quaint'...

So here's a bit of a turn up for the books on this blog, a pair of flats. I'm saying au revoir to a pair of black Ravel flats with a cute buckle across the front. And yes, smart arses, I did buy them from the children's section. To be fair, they're in great condition and they'd be perfect except for one thing, they're a size 2.5 and I'm a 3 or in European terms these are 35 and I'm 35.5. It's not a lot but trust me in this instance size really does matter.

Because I have no bumpy bit at the back of my heel I struggle to keep flats on, and slingbacks daaaahling, they're a bitch. So I thought in my infinite wisdom that if I bought a pair of flats that were a bit on the small side I'd keep them on through sheer force, almost like creating a vacuum with the shoe.

Alas no. Epic fail of epic proportions riding on the back of an unfathomably large elephant called Thrud, on steroids.

What happened was my toes were squashed and my heel was rubbed raw. Yeah lesson learned. On me flats need straps. Slingbacks? Well slingbacks, just no. Small feet, wide like a hobbit with no ability to keep shoes on. Am I just a mutant?

Perhaps my X-Man name should be Stub Foot. I'd have no particularly cool powers except crap feet, not much of a pull I grant you but the franchise is being milked for all it's worth, they might get around to my character eventually.

Samuel L. Jackson's shoe manifesto

Today was a day when I wasn’t going to check in to the t’interweb. I thought you could live ok without me and my shoe ramblings, and to be frank I’m sure you could. But here’s the thing, I wanted to share.

One of my neighbours passed away earlier this week and I thought I was ok with the news, until at the funeral I discovered she was eight years older than me and her 16 and 18 year old kids weren’t doing so well with the news that mom had given up her fight with the big C. It was on the whole a really special funeral, very moving, photos of the deceased and her kids and a shirt of her favourite football team across the coffin. Perhaps you’d think, ‘what the hell I can deal with this’, till her daughter stands up and starts telling the congregation how her mom was a role model and she looked up to her and wanted to make her proud, (note to self; do not ever attend another funeral wearing black without tissues; snail trails look fanciful on garden walls but not on dresses)

It was distressing, I hadn’t realised how much Kathryn Carpenter had made such an impression upon our neighbourhood until today; she was a feisty, passionate character and she will be missed by everyone who knew her. She cared about everyone and everything and that’s what made this social worker from the North special; her absolute passion about everything that mattered to her. Kath was a caring person, she was passionate and she loved what she loved – equality, diversity, people, friends, family, anything worth fighting for oh yeah and Sheffield Wednesday. We have already made a pact to take her 16 year old son to as many games as possible.

Here’s the thing, they weren’t the perfect neighbours, they fought, they shouted, they had a dog that ran around on our garden, but they were good people and their world is currently upside down. I love them for trying to pull it together. I love them for burying their differences today and most of all I love how feisty and passionate they all are, just like Kath. She would have adored today. The moving ceremony and the boozy get together afterwards, within spitting distance of the house.

I went to the ceremony in a different pair of shoes, which we will discuss later, but today, I walked to the pub in these flat babies, courtesy of the Shearers. They were a birthday present to celebrate a ‘0’ birthday last year. They’re flat and they were going to be worn for the entire 30-minute walk up the hill to the pub before another neighbour pulled up alongside us and said ‘do you want a lift?’

See that’s the thing, we have a Cameron neightbourhood without the Cameron Government; Big Society pah……We help each other, we look out for one another, we offer to help and if it’s requested, we deliver; like a Sam L. Jackson Government we give a fuck, mutherfucka.

Life round here is a bit like these shoe, comfy, easy, but covered in prickly studs. We’ll throw you a curve because we’re a bit different, but deep down we’re lovely and we will go the extra mile to help someone who needs support, but always be appreciative of that love because it’s never one way. Perhaps if we all were like that life would be so such easier, and so much nicer to share with strangers - we give if you accept and give a bit in return.

Thanks Kath, I’ve learned so much today about my neighbours and I thank you for that. You will be missed but your strength through the last few months will be remembered for ever. We’ll keep an eye on the kids and Wednesday for you.
Sniff.