The worst possible news: my disco shoes are damaged beyond repair. They have finally shuffled off their final dancefloor. They are dead.
I bought them about 15 years ago, when spending £125 on a pair of frivolous clubbing shoes seemed the height of good sense. It was a time when Rach and I spent most of our free time clubbing - when we would devote entire weekends to the ritualistic preparation for, attendance at and recovery from parties. It was a very special time in my life that I will always remember with great fondness.
So it's all the more upsetting that one of the few material links back to those fun-filled times has finally given up the ghost. They went out in style though - I wore them to a party last night that was filled with more laughter and lunacy than any 45 year-old retired raver has any right to expect. Towards the end of a very confusing night I noticed that something wasn't quite right and inspected my left shoe, only to find a gaping hole where the heel should have been, with the black sole flapping about like an ill-fitting toupee in a stiff breeze. As I trudged home through the rain-sodden streets of Hove in the early hours of this morning I reflected on how much fun I've had in these shoes and how I'm never going to buy anything like them again.
When those shoes died, a little part of me went with them. This is a sad day.
3 comments:
Oh dear... They look like you had a bad attack of the munchies honey! Either that or you have mice back in your lives...
I can totally relate to this post ... and still have some items of clothing from those halycon days ;-) and today I wonder how on earth I fitted into the kilt that is at the bottom of my wardrobe, but hey, being on the misery diet, perhaps I'll be back in it next year LOL
How about attacking the hole with a can of that tough aerosol filler foam that they use for filling gaps in walls, and then painting it white?
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