New Shoes and Soles

Yesterday I allowed myself to be enticed into the Clarks shop where I tried on and purchased the shoes pictured left. The pic doesn't do them justice. They are the perfect shade of dusty denim blue and have, I think, a gel insole, because it feels as if I am walking on a waterbed. But... I have one grumble, and it's a biggie. The soles of my feet are very tender, especially in the summer when I don't wear socks or tights. I'm sure I am not alone in this. So why, oh why, the sudden trend to carve patterns in the leather insole? I am wearing these shoes now, to soften them up and break them in. I have just walked to the postbox in them and, though I was wearing socks, I became aware of a slight irritation that was annoying my feet despite the comfy gel insoles. I got home, took them off, and what did I find? Carved into the leather is the name Clarks, the type of shoe - Active Air - and a bloody huge sunflower. Insoles should, above all things, be smooth. Now I shall have to stick an extra insole in, with all the rucking-up problems that will cause.

My second fashion moan of the day is tights. Yes, ladies, we have all experienced the horror of the tights that, as the day goes on, gradually sink down your legs so the crotch ends up round your knees, and the ones that won't pull up beyond mid-thigh level, and the ones that split as you're struggling into them - not to mention the ones that twist round your upper thigh and cut off your blood supply, so you hobble home wondering why your leg feels as if it's turned to wood.

But occasionally, just occasionally, one finds the perfect pair. Hallelujah! You rush for a pen to note down the brand so that you can find them again - but oh, woe, you've thrown away the packet and there's no manufacturer's label inside the waistband. Serious omission. Very serious indeed. Short of listing every pair as soon as you buy them, and, after wearing them, marking the list with a tick or a cross (yes, equivalent to life being too short to stuff a mushroom), there is simply nothing you or I can do, unless we are the proud possessor of a remarkable memory and know that this was the Wolford's pair Auntie Jane bought us for Christmas.

So, tights manufacturers - do yourselves and us a favour and sew in a label. Think of all the repeat sales you could have. (Or not, if yesterday's tights were anything to go by. By the time I'd come back from the shops, the heel was halfway up the back of my ankle, making me look rather like my elderly Auntie Edie did when she shoved her hanky into the leg of her knickers and it worked its way down her leg inside here stocking, ending as a dark brown lisle-covered carbuncle on her calf. Which also reminds me of the time my mother's knicker elastic gave way while she was in the local library. But that's another story...