Twice a year I have the ability to see the future. Yesterday was one of those days. All the snow had been washed away by the previous night’s rain and in its place was beautiful blue skies and bright sunshine. Who cares if it’s only January 28th; I can see summer! Of course, I use the term ‘summer’ loosely, since the British summer is about as reliable as a dry spell during Wimbledon.
The second day of premonition occurs usually around September time, when you see the last of the summer sun and feel the chill in the air, you know the one. The one that makes you want to exchange your flip flops for two pairs of socks, at least one of them thermal, and a nice pair of winter boots. Not to mention scarf, gloves and ear muffs.
Speaking of flip flops, I could probably have done with a pair on Saturday night. Having been out to celebrate my friend Kathleen Drury’s 30th birthday, we took one look at the taxi queue and decided to walk home. We got halfway when suddenly my Nine West heels didn’t quite feel like the slippers that they did when I tried them on in the shop.
I had this sudden urge to relieve my aching feet, which had by that time done quite enough jiving on Lola Lo’s light up dance floor (no-one’s seen moves like that since Travolta’s Saturday Night Fever days). Thing was, it was raining. I knew if I took off my shoes, it was the point of no return. A bit like Marty McFly in Back to the Future Part III. Speaking of which, if I’d had a hoverboard, none of this would have happened. Come on science geeks, you’ve got two years to invent hoverboards and flying cars. Oh, and one of those jackets that self-dries would be fab. You can forget about the automatically doing-up shoes though.
Anyway, back to the shoes, and my poor toesies, which felt like they must be square and completely deformed by now. So I took a deep breath, and took them off.
The relief of removing that gorgeous pair of heels was short lived, as my stockinged feet touched the cold, wet Tarmac. And when I say cold, I mean cold. The snow had only just melted, remember?
So I walked home, and though my feet didn’t hurt so much, I was a little concerned I might have frostbite and the need to have my toes amputated by morning.
But I did arrive home safe and sound, and so did my Nine Wests. Poor tights, they did have to go in the bin, a great gaping hole having formed under the ball of my right foot. But as I replaced the wet, ruined tights with a warm, comfy pair of slippers, I smiled over what a great night myself, Kathleen and my Nine Wests had.
As for the morning, well no hangover from my Porn Star Martinis (my new favourite beverage care of the White Hart hotel, where Tom Hanks stayed during filming for The Da Vinci Code) and a perfect view of the promise of summer. Although next time, I’ll take my fold-up flats too. Or my hoverboard.