At last, it seems the mega talented JK Rowling and I have something in common.
No, it’s not the multi-million-pound fortune – although I’m currently careering towards a very healthy credit card debt of megabucks proportions, so in some ways we’re almost twins!
And, nice guess, but neither is it the ability to pen beautifully-crafted works of fiction – although had the boss agreed to my offer to write “Ten Ways To Fare Dodge on the Trams” I reckon I’d have hit best-seller category on Amazon.
No, where JK and I are ‘sisters united’ is obvious. Step this way in your well-polished winklepickers and I shall explain.
Once upon a time there was a fair maiden (OK, bear with me on the fair maiden bit) who craved a pair of shoes. Not any old shoes, but Sasha shoes, double-stacked platform heel ones, a good eight inches high, grey and black with little white flashes, the very dab in 1970s fashionable Falkirk.
The beautiful princess (OK, maybe that’s taking it a tad too far) waited patiently for her shoes until one day her fairy godmother (her gran) agreed to buy them for her birthday.
Sadly this momentous purchase was marred on two fronts. First, the deal was struck approximately a week before these great clumping and very expensive shoes went horrifically out of fashion.
Second, they were so eye-wateringly tight, that every step the heaving lump of a girl took in her stupid big shoes made it hurt all the way up to her tear-stained cheeks.
Now I know many a woman who will nod in a ‘yep, been there, done it’ kind of way. Perhaps even JK herself. She admitted at the weekend to having a full-blown obsession with shoes, the higher the better – although at 5ft 4ins she can wear those eight-inch demons without spending the night staring at everyone’s baldy bit. I, however, at 5ft 7ins in my socks, look like a Scotland Rugby prop.
Of course, she can afford to fill her wardrobe with lovely Louboutins, magnificent Manolos and jewel-encrusted Jimmy Choos – unlike those among us for whom Matalan’s shoe department is as good as it gets.
That said, some things never change. I recently treated myself to a lovely pair of heels – far too high, a bit too tight. I can’t walk in them, they hurt like blazes.
“Get a bigger size then,” suggested my husband, failing to understand I’d rather chop off my toes than go up to size seven.
They may only be a pair of shoes, but my pal JK and I know they are pure magic.