I ventured out this afternoon in search of a new pair of shoes for work, and a new pair of trainers that at least look as if they might have been bought this century. There are now very definitely two distinct types of shoe shop on the British High Street. The first type sells bargain basement lace-ups, usually in beige, of the kind that my dad would happily wear. The other type sells designer footwear at vastly inflated prices, safe in the knowledge that those of who don't want to look like our dads will have to pay up.
And so it was that I found myself in Covent Garden, rather than Stratford High Street, in search of my new size 10s. When faced by such a dazzling array of supposedly-fashionable shoes, it's a tough job to find even one pair that might look sort of vaguely acceptable. This is especially true of trainers, which now appear only to be available in technicolour designs with lemon stripes and moulded plastic spoilers. I eventually found a pair of trainers in blue and grey, convinced myself that despite being blue and grey my dad really would never wear them, and approached a shop assistant. "Got these in a size 10?" Silly question. The assistant disappeared into the bowels of the shop for five minutes before returning empty handed, and I left empty-footed. One day shoe shops will come up with an alternative stock control system whereby the size I want is in stock, or they can tell me otherwise before I get pissed off of waiting and walk out.
In the end I gave up on the office shoe hunt for yet another week, but I did manage to find those trainers on my fourth attempt. I am now the proud owner of a traditional, stable Heritage trainer for runners who require excellent support & cushioning. I shall wear them to the pub.
