Auld Lang Sock

On this penultimate day of December, we have at last arrived at that time of year when we start to reminisce fondly of auld lang syne, (or consign those evil days to the devil), and to look forward to a new leaf, a clean slate, a fresh start and all those other clichés.

This is also a good time to give old things their marching orders, such as socks that fall down just as ever so soon as you pull them up, no matter how cute and stripey and cosy they are. These are Evil Socks. Gird your loins, Snapettes, and chuck ’em in the bin!

The New Year is also a good time go shopping for new socks. Hello Chicstocking—hurrah!

Photo: September 2018

The White Walkers

It was maybe last summer that I bought a pair of as new off-white kid leather sneakers by Camper in a thrift store. Technically they were a size too big, but they were so soft and comfortable and just my kinda sneaks, that I bought them anyway. They became my favourite walking shoes. I wore them everywhere, and I wore them to death.

First they developed the sundry scuffs and scrapes of normal wear-and-tear, but then holes appeared in the outer sides where the leather was thinnest – I was aghast! I kept on wearing them anyway. Then the shoelaces snapped, and I tied them in knots and I kept on wearing them. Then the treads, in patches, wore down to non-existence.

Then, my friend bought a pair of white brogues by Australian brand Country Road – also from the thrift store – but finding them too small for her, passed them on to me. These were also in excellent condition when they were donated. Admittedly they are a little too tight for me, but once they are worn in and their stiffness softens, they will be fine (toes crossed).

… normally I would be embarrassed to be seen on the streets in such shabby shoes …

The only problem was that I was stubbornly clinging to my disgraceful Campers instead of wearing in the Country Roads. Even though normally I would be embarrassed to be seen on the streets in such shabby shoes, I was brazenly continuing to wear them.

Finally on Boxing Day when I gave the apartment a good post-Christmas-rush clean-up, I forced myself to pick up the disreputable shoes and march off to the giant garbage bins – where, wincing, I threw them in. A few, sad tears followed them like the handful of pebbles one casts over a coffin.

I wish I could say I took to the brogues with gusto, but my feet are in mourning still.

Photo: December 2012

Pearls of Wisdoom

Pearls are one of my favourite precious gems, and unfortunately pearls are fabled to bring tears. They certainly have in my case. I once was horror-stricken when the large Broome pearl fell out of my engagement ring – it was found, but the engagement was broken off (the right decision, it transpired). And now a couple of weeks ago I was devastated when I arrived home one day and discovered the mabé pearl in a favourite ring was smashed off!

Somehow it’s worse to find it half-smashed than lost altogether. In the latter case I might be able to console myself a little that some lucky person was enjoying it. Now, all I can imagine is that the fragments of pearl shell were crushed underfoot by some oblivious passer-by. Ironically, this ring was a gift from the same man, so perhaps it was doomed after all, though it took more than a decade for the day of its reckoning to come.

On Moh’s scale of hardness, pearls rate a 2.5–4.5 out of ten; next time, give me pure carbon, the hardest substance known to man. It just doesn’t have the same ring, though, does it?

Photo: November 2018

How Now, Brown Cowhide

Many years ago – maybe ten or fifteen – I bought a cowhide bucket handbag from a market in Hong Kong. It was quite an expensive purchase, but I rationalised that it was such a classic leather and style, I would be able to use it forever. Well, it hasn’t been quite forever yet, but I think I have justified my belief by now.

Then last autumn, when I was hunting high and low for a classic tote bag to use for work, I came across a cowhide version on the online sale site, Ozsale, and was instantly struck by how similar it was in looks to my old bucket bag. I don’t remember the name of the label, and there is none inside the bag, but it was a homewares brand that used recycled wood and canvas from vintage French army and postal gear.

My main stipulation – besides being stylish – was that the prospective tote had to be large enough to fit my office shoes, my lunch, iPad and other sundry items I deemed necessary to schlep to and from work every day. I also wanted to be sure that the colour would complement most outfits, without resorting to something boring like – ugh – black.

It’s like those tents in Harry Potter … I can just keep putting things inside without it bursting at the seams.

This tote was enormous – the biggest one in the sale – and looked tough and hard wearing, suitable for Melbourne’s winter weather. It would work for summer too, except that I had already found a large straw bag to use in the warmer months. Even better, I had some credit owing me on the sale site, so I was able to purchase the tote for very little extra.

I’m happy to report after several months use so far, the tote has measured up to my expectations, even exceeded them. It’s like those tents in Harry Potter – deceptively enormous. I can just keep putting things inside without it bursting at the seams. I love that I can slot in even a longish umbrella through the end because the zip hasn’t been sewn down all the way to the ends. So much do I like it I haven’t even swapped over to the straw tote yet even though we are well into spring!

Photo: August 2018

The Fatal Allure of Red

The colour red has all my life exerted a fascination over me. I have always been attracted to it while shopping, especially in accessories such as shoes and bags. It holds a siren-like allure for me, by which I mean those wickedly bewitching singing creatures of the sea – but it is fatally easy to forget that red is also the colour of danger, and alarm sirens are usually flashing red light.

So when a few months ago I came upon a pair of funky red leather shoes in a thrift store, I was easy prey. Since I also firmly believe one cannot own too many red shoes, and these ones fit me perfectly, I bought them.

[red] holds a siren-like allure for me … but it is fatally easy to forget that red is also the colour of danger

When I plonked them down on the counter, another customer admired them and said, “Oooo, you’ll get a lot of wear out of those!” I was quite sure she was correct.

WRONG.

One evening walking home from work I felt something strange afoot … an indescribable sensation of … a sole detaching from the bottom of my shoe! With every step, the sole flapped about and rolled under itself, making it completely impossible to walk at a reasonable pace. I was forced to reduce my customary speedy stride to a slow schlep, and hobbled home the last leg of my journey.

I was quite aggravated by the time I arrived at my abode. It’s remarkable how a seemingly small thing can become a major irritant. I had only worn the shoes a handful of times, too. The other sole was not in quite as bad a state, but I could see it wasn’t far off. It was not worth getting them repaired, as other parts of the shoe were already too worn; it would have been throwing good money after bad, I decided crossly.

That would teach me to be tempted by the siren-like beckoning of red shoes! One of the first rules of shopping is caveat emptor, or, in English, ‘buyer beware’. That is doubly true when shopping in thrift stores. Into the bin with these! Maybe the next ones will be better …

Photos: September 2018