All good things are destined to come to an end at some time, be it potentially record-breaking winning streaks in the league or the sustainability of a fine pair of boots. Unfortunately for me I experienced the expiration of both of those yesterday, and it would be difficult for me to deny that it wasn’t the latter which upset me the most.
In my time I have found that, much like a good woman (or a woman of any sort, really) a good pair of footwear is really difficult to keep a hold of. I will often get a pretty solid couple of months out of a pair of shoes or boots – more than those aforementioned ladies – but soon find that they begin to fall apart. And I have not yet been able to figure out where it is that I’m going wrong in my treatment of my footwear.
The pair of boots which I am currently wearing have been on my feet for less than two months. Not continuously, of course; I take them off to shower, sleep and for at least five days a week when I am not casual JJ. In that time I have grown fond of them. They are a solid oak brown colour and can be worn with just about any outfit. They have seen some sights in their short lifespan, notably a couple of visits out to Celtic Park, a wee venture to Manchester and one unexpectedly exhilarating train journey home.
But much like with every other piece of footwear I have owned in my life my relationship with these brown bad boys would become strained. I was walking through the rain kissed streets of the east end of Glasgow when I felt an unexpected dampening of my socks. I knew that I wasn’t engaging in any extreme sport and so, for once, this wasn’t sweat. It could only be the puddles I was nonchalantly striding through – but how was that possible?
I sat through a frustrating 1-1 draw with Rangers at Celtic Park and forgot all about my leaky boots for a while, instead contemplating how a Partick Thistle fan might feel about the late equaliser Celtic conceded. I reflected that it might be close to how a Celtic fan felt about the frustration at Firhill the previous day.
Following the disappointing outcome at the football I had approximately three hours to kill in The Raven, where I could sink pints of Caesar Augustus and shoegaze. It was here that I realised that not one but both of my boots each have a crack etched all the way across the sole. I’ve heard of a broken heart, but a broken sole?? (PS. this possibly ties in with a joke I recently made at work, which was met with minimal fuss, when I asked if a pair of new sole traders might be in the business of selling shoes.)
I can’t figure out where it is that I’m going wrong with my footwear. The casualty list is growing longer than the number of Rangers fouls which went without punishment yesterday and it seems impossible that it can’t be, in some slight way, my fault. Are my feet too big? Surely not if they are capable of crafting leather into my size. Are my strides too powerful? Am I treading on hazardous ground? These are all questions I ask myself on a near-daily basis.
Those answers aren’t forthcoming as yet, but it is becoming clear that, a lot like with my current inability to stay asleep, I am possibly in need of lessons in shoe maintenance. Perhaps some classes on developing a more fleet-footed gait will help protect my sole. A tender soul is to be desired, after all.
Is there a right way to walk, or am I doing it correctly with my right-left-right-left etc. approach?
I am tentative when it comes to buying a new pair of boots or shoes. I have a very short threshold of patience for shoe shopping, and it doesn’t help knowing that I am inevitably going to end up breaking the sole or poking a hole through them and I’ll be right back there sighing in that shoe shop. Though as with the ending of a potentially record-breaking run of league wins, it seems like the best way of getting over the loss of a pair of boots is to jump feet first into the next ones.
JJ 0-1 Footwear
Celtic 1-1 Rangers
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