Flat Shoes

When I moved to Devon nearly four years ago I didn’t own flat shoes or boots.  Living and working in London meant heels every day, apart from those few and far between days when I walked across Battersea Park in trainers to get to work and then changed hurriedly in the Ladies.  Now my beautiful shoes are stored in boxes in a cupboard and hardly see the light of day.  Then rather rudely yesterday evening when I had driven a hundred and fifty miles to see a girl friend, all she could do was fall about laughing when she saw my fairly nice flat black boots under my jeans.  I said I would be changing obviously into something smarter for the party later on.  A bit like when I picked my son up from the station a Christmas or so ago, admittedly wearing jeans and a fleece and riding boots I think – he took one look at me and said ‘Oh my God, Mum, what’s happened to you?”  So this blog is about what HAS happened to me in the few years since I lived in London, swapping heels for scruffy boots and rude comments and the transition from town mouse to rather reluctant country mouse.

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