236: shoes n that

The last couple of days I have been experiencing a strange phenomenon.  Whenever I close my eyes for more than a few moments I start to form images of huge piles of shoes; brogues, boots, ballerinas, wellies, jellies, sandals, slip-ons, slippers, stilettos, flats, pumps, and trainers.  It’s a little disorientating and I hope the effect will begin to subside.  I judge it to be related to my new day job, started yesterday; what else could it be?  It’s not as though I have any interest in shoes.  I once had a perfect pair of black Vans with white soles.  I ruined them by putting them in the washing machine.  The suede went rock hard.  Idiot.

My bestest favouritest shoes remain and always will be my everlasting Dr. Martens boots.  So everlasting in fact that the soles are beginning to wear through and the leather is thinning by the ball of my right foot.  I had better have a bit of a potter down to the cobblers, and get them resoled (is that even a thing they can do?).  I don’t want to have to get new ones and go through the bloody-ankled, Achilles heel hobbling pain of breaking in a pair of Docs.  I still get that on the rare occasions that I get an excuse to break out my other pair of DMs, the steel-toed ones.  They are the first ones I ever got.  Idiot that I am I thought it would be coolest to get steel ones.  Moron.  They are tools to prevent broken toes when shifting paving slabs, not plimsolls for partying in.  And not only do they cut the heel, but they try to tear of all your toes where the steel meets the leather. 

But they did come with a free book: a book about Dr. Martens, huzzah!  It’s full of big glossy pics of punks and leather and the rest of it.  It’s in the other room and I cannae be arsed gettin’ it to look at now, but I do remember it has a picture of a mohawked punk and a Native American eyeballing each other in a forest clearing.  Something about the Sex Pistols... the rest of it escapes me.  Interesting stuff, eh?

For anyone interested (and who hasn't yet guessed it) my new day job involves shoes, but fortunately I am not required to go anywhere near the feet of the general public.  Nor do I have to talk to them very often.  I now make an oath that my job will not drag this blog downhill into daily moaning, in the same way that my last job did.  This job is easy and is taken in bite-sized pieces; my last job was depressing, degrading slavery.  So tra-la-la, plus I work in town so I can head straight on over to BLANKSPACE after work, and do a bit of the real stuff.  I can forget about shoes and administer/administrate some art!  The No Offence Intended exhibition opens tomorrow; finishing touches are being put on it as we speak.  I’ll be there, camera in one hand, drink in the other.  And tomorrow (actually, it’ll probably be Friday) I’ll do a nice little round up, and a bit of promotion here.  With photographs.  Nightnight.