Cards on the table, I have spent this evening at a party. I was set to write a post about parties and social etiquette but that required more thought than I can give at this advanced hour in a state of mild wine consumption. This is, to my mind the main problem with writing a daily blog: oh yes, you don’t let things mull in your head until they become too urgent to capture on screen but equally sometimes you don’t have enough time to consider them properly either. Especially, as mine always seem these days, late at night when you know you should really be in bed because tomorrow is another important day. That’s my excuse: I’m sticking to it.

Parties will just have to wait for another day.

Instead I share with you today’s boot obsession. It is no secret that I love clothes. We had a debate en famille yesterday, discussing a recent FT agony aunt column about how a woman should react to a male (board level) colleague commenting on her nice dress. For the reasons stated above, I’ll save that for another day but for the record I don’t share the opinion that women and men should go around in little blue or grey suits as in the days of  Mao’s Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution (don’t forget, dear Reader, I lived in China when they all wore those) and all share the ideological purity about equality in what they wear. I believe that humans are individuals and most strain to express themselves creatively in one way or another. For some of us, dressing in an appropriate, or slightly inappropriate manner for the occasion is a way of expressing ourselves creatively, and also a way of donning a mask, a persona either to help us fit in or stand out. That there are different expectations of different sexes is a structural inequality. (I’d be quite happy to see a man dressed in a skirt and heels, if that’s how he felt that day, for example. But then, it wouldn’t be up to me to judge, would it?) I digress: I’ve had four glasses of wine.

Today I have been obsessing about boots. I took a trip to Bluewater yesterday and came home empty handed, which is quite novel for me. I actually do need some walking boots for the winter dog walk, and I have bought these online from Timberland today.




Actually, when you take into account mud and cleaning, I need two pairs to alternate while the other is drying. From experience it takes cleaned boots more than a day to dry. The alternative is to wear them without cleaning them and I am becoming quite used to wearing boots encrusted with a week’s worth of mud. This is a surefire way to run boots into the grave before their time, however, hence the need for two pairs. This is the pair I’d buy as an alternate, from Celtic&Co:


Sadly, I find myself severely financially embarrassed these days and all I can do is dream and fantasise around my shoe fetish.

I’d like these to go with my leggings. Yes, I know leggings are not trousers but I am bored with wearing jeans, and they constrict my breathing. During a recent recital rehearsal I had to undo my jeans to breathe. A diva should not have to work under such conditions.

I am lusting after these from Russell and Bromley:

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And how about these too from Baukjen. If they were available in brown suede, I’d have bought them by now:

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Maybe I should go the whole hog and get these:

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Russell and Bromley

I can’t fathom what’s got into me, all of a sudden. Most of these boots are highly impractical and it’s unlikely I’d wear them more than a couple of times, if at all. But dreams are wonderful things and I think I’m releasing my inner Bond girl. Indulge me, at least for a moment, please.

Alas, a moment’s fantasy is all it can be unless I somehow manage to hijack one of the Russell and Bromley vans that pass my house several times a day on their way from the warehouse up the road to the stores in town (I assume.) Maybe I should work out a cunning plan.