mostly david ephgrave

Today, I bought a pair of emergency shoes. I don’t mean they would be appropriate footwear in a crisis; more that they were bought out of necessity. I’ve had a hole in my left shoe for the last few days - which, like the Traffic song, was letting in water. After a day of trudging about in damp socks, I decided that enough was enough. I walked into Shoe Zone with twenty quid in my pocket, knowing that all of their stock was mine for the taking (up to a limit of twenty quid). I spotted a pair I liked as soon as I walked through the door. Within minutes, I’d slipped out of my Swiss-cheese-like boots (in terms of holes, not smell) and was strutting around the shop like a Saturday Night Fever-era John Travolta. The transaction was over with quicker than you could say "Scientology". Before long, I was back on the street: new pair of shoes on my feet; old pair of shoes in my hand. The sight that greeted me as I leant over the bin outside the shop's front door ...

I spotted this on the footpath on my way into town this morning: Nothing beats the sight of your first autumnal croc of the year. Stumbling across this single, solitary example of tasteless middle-class footwear called to mind a question I’ve been pondering for ages: why do you often see discarded shoes by the roadside? I’ve lost track of the amount of times I’ve seen this (not that I was knowingly keeping tally). I could probably count the occasions a shoe slipped off in public on the fingers of one hand (at the time of writing I have four fingers on each). Most took place at secondary school, when some wiseguy or girl snuck up behind me; walking too close on purpose, so they could step on the back of one and force it off. Even then, with the threat of mocking voices hanging over my head, I’d still take the time to stop and slip it back on again. I’ve never been in such a hurry that I haven’t had time to do this. Sur...