Shoe Heaven

Kallispera, y'all

Sunday again. I should, at this moment, be driving to the swimming pool in Aylestone for healthful exercise, but to be honest, I can't be bothered. I have drunk rather too much caffeine today as well. I am shaking like Pete Doherty waiting for his man. As I can't swim terribly well this is enough of a reason not to go and expose my less than perfect chest to ridicule. I was walking back to my crib (thaks for that, Westwood) from a cafe this morning and someone pointed at my t-shirt and laughed, but then perhaps "Nie kumam" is hysterically funny in Polish. I don't know. I only bought it in Wroclaw train station to get rid of my last Zlotys before I got to Germany and could communicate again.

Anyway, what I did do today was go to Fosse Park for jeans. I will confess now - I went to Gap, but I will defend myself with two responses - the good jeans place in town has shut down and, have you been to Fosse Park on a Sunday? It's hellish. It's a sea of fake Burberry and England football shirts. I had already been into JJB Sport and Sport World looking for trainers, but the idea that someone might want some Adidas Gazelles in a size 10 has not reached them yet. It was ugly white leather 80's reissues, ugly red and black Nike space shoes with sprung soles, or nothing. The shops are like mazes full of blind idiots and the only place for drinks is McDonalds. It's every lowest common denominator made brick. I felt quite out of place, as my car does not have one of those bloody flags on it and no item of sportswear adorned my body.

So I wanted out. I went into Gap and was back on the road within five minutes with two pairs of reasonable quality if ethically unsound jeans and sixty quid the lighter. Shopping is never any fun. You do silly things, like shop in Gap out of desperation. I suppose it could have been worse - at least I could park and the queues weren't out of the door, but it's all so faceless. The two sports shops there, which sit less than a hundred yards apart, had exactly the same items for exactly the same prices decorated with exactly the same pictures of Michael Owen and Frank Lampard and exactly the same exhortations to "Believe!". I asked the woman in the shoe section of JJB whether they had an area for people who don't believe especially and she looked pained. "The warehouse, perhaps" she said. Maybe she loved the game and the team feeling and all that, but working with it ten hours a day, six days a week could well mute the joy somewhat. She looked like she wanted to kill someone.

So I went to the Borders next door. They have a vibrating floor upstairs, which is offputting enough when it's quiet, but especially when some damn kid notices that it vibrates and insists on jumping up and down. He might be having the time of his young life, but I was siezed with images of collapsing beams and the folorn ringing of the mobile phones of the dead. To distact myself I browsed the snooty films - Kristof Krislowski's Three Colours trilogy for thirty quid; tempting - and bought "America: The Book" by Jon Stewart. A fine read, and very funny. I like American satire. It tends to be much less subtle than British satire. Why make gentle fun at Tony Blair's expense when you can rip out George Bush's throat and piss down his neck?

I approve whole-heartedly. At the risk of sounding serious, I have no idea why we have soldiers in Iraq at the moment, and have never had any idea. I got terribly angry when the troops first went in, and now 120-odd have been killed I am just as angry. It's not like we're getting anything out of it except the ire of the other 196 countries in the world. If you don't think that the rewarding of re-construction contracts hasn't been nicely stitched up then frankly, you are a fool. Tony Blair has as good as said he did it because he wanted to be remembered. Well, Tone, a billion and a bit pounds, 30,000 dead Iraqis, 2,000 dead Americans and 120 British war widows on various Army bases around the country later, I'm fairly sure you will indeed be remembered; but not perhaps for the reasons you wanted. Another of his more specious reasons was that he wanted to exercise some restraint on Bush. We can all see what a success that was as Ronald Regan's old plans for Iran are dusted down, and then the pipeline can go all the way through.

But that's by the by. We are all thoroughly doomed by now, so let's make the most of it. The other thing I got in Borders was the Raconteurs album, and I ended up singing Steady As She Goes to the girl behind the till, who looked charmed. I may have also charmed the woman from Virginia who unaccountably works in the Starbucks upstairs and told me she was a great fan of The Daily Show when she saw my book. Apparently bookshops are the best place to meet nice, intelligent, unattached women. Hmm. I haven't been out with anyone for nine months, and making a couple of women in a bookshop smile is hardly going to end that kind of losing streak, but it was nice nonetheless. The male ego is a deeply pathetic thing, especially in Summer when the clothes shrink and the hair is worn loose.

Next Week: Coping with the 80's revival for those who remember it from the first time round - where to find the best hiding places and blacked out ski goggles.

Good Night, and Good Luck
Dougal