Winter is just not my friend in regards footwear, though it's been a whle since I had to worry. Out in the branch office, anything would do, and in my old gothic building I didn't care what I wore because I knew I could slip into the ugg boots I had hidden under my desk (and frequently forgot to shuck off on trips to the loo/kitchen). Oh, that was bliss, and it had practical benefits as well as the carnal pleasures of toastie toesies: it kept away colds and helped me work better with warm feet.
But now I'm here. And here we are. The main problems are, within my price band, there are only three styles: cowgirl, musketeer and hooker. High heels are out, and so are ankle boots because I have to wear skirts for work and even though I have a few maxi skirts to hand, while never tall, I'm not short either and there's always that horrid gap where the hem should be. And now we come to the crux of the problem, that even on my best days I have the calves of an East German shotputter. I simply cannot buy boots that will zip up. They do not exist.
Except these ones, and only just, and only in the mornings. They've got adjutable buckles up the side and I took them home and played with them and figured either I'll squeeze in or some charity recipient is going to be stylin' this winter. I made it, just, and only with the minimum of heaving and flailing. But now I have mid-calf muffin tops. Woe is me.
What has happened of course is that peril that befalls all chubsters...getting close to the best weight I could hope for I thought I could ease off the throttle a little, have a kit kat with a cuppa, my first in ages. But no. Never. Sigh. Best I lay off everything lest I lose all circulation. Life is no fun when one is born looking like a comedy secondary character from Dickens. Had I been born with the figure of an Austen heroine I'd have no trouble at all.
TV? Not much. Had Meadowlands on in the background while I was working. Didn't mind missing it too much as I'm only watching it for David Morrissey who is teh smex in this, but otherwise, not my fave show. The rest of the actors are awful (and that includes one of the many ex Mrs Beans) and the plot derivative. I've pretty much spent the entire series waiting for the characters to catch up. I can see that it was pitched as Twin Peaks or Desperate Housewives meets Lost or the Truman Show, but it actually reminds me of something I saw as a kiddie, something British from the 70s (or 60s, even, on repeat?) that was all about mind control, sociology, psychology and villagers as lab rats - springing deeply from the Cold War, I believe. No idea what it was, I only remember glimpses, it could even have been Doctor Who or something similiar, but it certainly made more of an impression than Meadowlands ever will, which just seems to be hothoused schmucks behaving badly. But never mind, David is hot.
Funny though, we were talking Tudors and watching Elizabeth R and I Claudius as kiddies and how British drama was far more affecting than those US shows I was subsequently banned from watching (oh yes, banned from watching Starksky and Hutch but Elizabeth R and I Claudius were okay, ditto reading Oliver Twist and other gruesome classics). Anyway, it's just interesting that the psychological horror of these early UK shows has lived with me ever since, rather than the quickly forgotten spectacle of US shows (compare and contrast: listen to a soundtrack of an old BBc show, now listen to Stargate, and see which is easier to follow sans picture).
I wondered what would happen if UK shows ever got an American budget and no longer had to rely on the script to carry the show? Answer: Meadowlands and the Tudors. I feared as much. Oh well.
I still love my Brit telly, though, and I have the dark circles under my eyes to prove it.
On the buses
Tony Robinson: my top 10 train trips
156-Step Burger Wins Goldberg Prize
NY duck gets 'order of protection' after attack
Heath Ledger thrills as the Joker in new Batman movie
Ian Fleming's novel plan to outwit the Nazis
Harvey Weinstein: Star Wars fans fight back
Charlton Heston: as you won't remember him
Recycling? What a load of rubbish
Anzacs' snaps capture horror and humour of life in trenches
Termites feast on trader's money
Indiana Jones 'opening in Cannes'
Heroes and ER returning to US TV
Condoms help preserve rain forest
Climate change affects beer
Man blinded during Blitz regains sight
Liverpool vandal chops off Ringo Starr's head
Lifeclass: how to grieve and live on
Boys and their toys? It's biological, not social
'Hoodies' were the scourge of Medieval London