Voleur

I'm a bit confused. Did The Sunday Times actually nick the satirical A Peek at the Diary of... part of the Saturday Guardian this week?

I'm not sure if it was the up for 13 hours, only eaten a wrap or the writing of the author but I was in a book shop today and I actually almost passed out. And this isn't an exaggeration. And I know that I am prone to them. I'm Irish. I can't help it. The point being I have an awful habit of picking up a book in a book shop and opening it and starting to read. If I like what I read then it's a done deal. The book today was Wetlands. Of late I've been starting a lot of sentences with, "I'm not a feminist but...", which makes me worry that the lady doth protest too much. Sorry. Back in the room. So I pick it up because the girl that wrote it has been all over the press because it's so shocking. I prepare to not really be that shocked in the grand scheme of things because this is the woman that was a hypothetical promoter for Pete's Bang Cupboard and periodically checks the internet of late to make sure Jade Goody is still alive. I was not expecting it to be quite so graphic about the fact that the 18 year old protagonist has no arse. As in, something along the lines of, I was surprised to see that there was no evidence of a sphincter, was written. I genuinely shit you not (see what I did there) I actually almost puked in the shop. Which is very unbecoming of a lady. Needless to say, the deal was not done. (I remind myself a bit of Alan Partridge there)

Found possibly the last pair of cream/red lady dragon heart Vivienne Westwood shoes in London today. In my size. I put them on and walked around the shop and then took them off again and put them back in the box. And put them back where I found them. And walked away. I left a little part of me in that box today. A very small part of me.

It's probably for the best though. They smell of bubblegum and my new game when I'm drunk is forcing complete strangers to smell my shoes. I'm quite the drunk so I imagine people comply. I couldn't say for sure for obvious reasons. Those reasons that I'm a "rowdy". Which on reflection I don't mind. It's a fairly accurate description. Rowdy in a lovely way I am sure. Because I am a lady.

To try and get over the trauma I then went and found the below:


Because it's like this. If I can't buy a pair of glorified jelly shoes for £80 then I WILL go out and find a pair of shoes that I will covet even more for £220.

You may be dubious. You are a fool if you are, but you might just be. But rest assured in real life they are the most beautiful shoes ever. And where would I wear them? To work. Obviously. Because sometimes you need a pair of total fuck me heels to jazz up that black suit. Oh and for you to get your own way.

I managed to walk away from these ones too. It was slightly easier seeing as they were double the price but still. It has been known for me to have a shopping frenzy crisis where I spend more money than necessary on things that I really don't need. Like mats with pictures of owls on them (I didn't actually buy it but I was so tempted) Also, if I put it in to context my next big purchase is a new digital camera next month. Which costs less than those shoes. See. That, my friends, is fucking context. Damn you context, damn you to Hell.