Ouch

Ouch

So I’m contracting at a place that requires a bit more polish in the old dress code than I’m used to, so I’ve been dusting off my lovely old leather shoes. I’ve got a gorgeous pair of French ones that still look great but have a hole in the sole (soul) and getting them fixed requires sending them back to France (the soles are tripple-welt and the taps are forged and seamlessly fitted with steel screws–these are some very serious items of footware).

Blisters that won't heal

Anyway, in an effort to make those ones last a few more months, I dusted off a lovely pair i picked up at Church’s a few years ago. They were still like new and I seemed to remember that they didn’t fit terribly well and never really wore them in. So to cut a long story short, I brazenly wore the damn things last Thursday (the day I became 42 years old) and by the end of the day, both my ankles were raw flesh and my socks were filled with blood (which may have explained why I couldn’t keep my mind on the gig I was at that evening).

Since then, I’ve compounded the problem. I have to wear formal shoes to work, so even with two plasters on each ankle it’s agony. My bloody commute includes about 45 minutes of brisk walking and a further 30 of standing still (tube). The picture above was taken a few days into this process, my ankles are swelling up like I’m pregnant and parts of my calf are developing welts, scarring and bruising. I just cannot believe a pair of shoes could do so much damage.

So today i’ve instituted a one-man dress-down Friday and am walking to the bank in my Birkenstocks:-)