I think that summer is only just around the corner. The reason for this supposition is not, as some might imagine, the fact that the last two or three days have been heading into warm temperatures, but that my feet are feeling cry and hot every time I put my socks on. I am not one who can cope with nylon stockings all day, (or those wonderful adaptations to slacks wearing – ‘knee-highs’).
As a result, I have been looking around for some nice sandals, which is not so easy as one might expect. Many years ago, when I was a lot younger, I owned a lovely pair of summer clogs that would be verging on the stylish again today. However, I had to give them up because I kept falling off them and sprained my ankle on more than one occasion. So, anything on clunky platforms is off the list. And high heels with thin straps are off the list for similar reasons.
Then there is the question of cost. I am not willing to pay a ridiculous price for a pair of sandals that might only last the one season, but at the same time paying for “el cheapo’s” is just asking for trouble, but what to wear? Leather or synthetic; canvas or plastic; heel or flat; closed or opened toes; slip-on or buckled; slide or shoe-style? Then there is the question of colour … and the equally invidious one of fashion or style.

One would imaging that I would have some sort of idea what sort of sandal I should/could be wearing this summer, but as usual when I start looking around I am under-whelmed with the choices available. Why is it that when one wants a sensible shoe or sandal, one either has to spend what I consider far too much or end up wearing something that is comfortable, but leaves you hoping that no-one will actually look at your feet because they are wearing something that looks so incredibly dowdy.

I think the real problem is that I don’t really like the way my feet look. They are not long and slender, like those both my children inherited from the other side of the family, but broad and square. Designed for load bearing, though I will cheerfully admit that I inherited nice ankles and elegant calves from somewhere, my feet are basically, and boringly, Saxon. The sort of Saxon that in childhood populated the homes of the serfs attached to the Norman castles that my family visited during the school holidays.

I desire to have “neat feet”, but I am blessed with “plates o’ meat” instead. They have funny nails that always feel uncomfortable, even when dealt with by a podiatrist, and I have big, fat, sturdy, big toes that remind me of pillows that have been slept on by a heavy head. Yet for all their apparent stubbiness, my toes and feet are quite flexible and even prehensile … I often pick up small things from the floor with them to save bending – which is probably one reason why, over the years, I have developed a dislike for footwear that is neither comfortable nor essentially sensual.

I look at my big toes and suddenly think that it is amazing that even though I dislike the way they look, and sometimes the way they feel (especially when the nail gets long enough to be actually noticeable), without my big toes, I would not be as able to walk as well as I do. So that I wouldn’t be able to see the wild flowers in the local woods when I walk the dog. Nor would I be able to so easily scratch that same dog as she lies on the floor in front of the television in just the right way to get her to wriggle in delight and scratch at her “D”-spot. But, most of all, if I didn’t have the feet I have, I would not be able to feel the earth under them in quite the same way; hot summer sand grains, cold winter mud squoushes, humpy ankle-turning cobbles, smooth cool marble floors, thick luxurious Persian carpets and crunchy fragrant wood-chips, and I think that I would miss that if I had different feet.