Can we please take a moment to admire my Mum's utterly perfect leather sandal and ankle grazer combination? Her feet were one of the first things I noticed when she hopped out of the van to collect my melancholy self and a room worth of possessions from Manchester this week. To the extent that I felt my overenthusiastic attention to detail sort of hijacked our reunion moment. 'Did you buy the Swear sandals?' were I think my exact words about two seconds after we had greeted each other as I mistook them for these. Two proverbial bombshells dropped as she told me they were from Next (a shop I never consider visiting) and around the £30 mark. Quite a feat to find reasonably priced shoes on a high street that relentlessly prices shoes with a shelf life of a year at the £60+ mark. This is a subject that converts me into 'elder lady in M&S' style rages defined by tuts when I look at price tags on the shoes in Topshop, for example. 'Chh! £68 for this? This flimpsy sole won't even make it through the summer!' etc etc). I spent the rest of the day watching my Mum's feet, not dissimilar to the way I might have followed them around a supermarket back in the day, but this time not for navigational purposes but out of pure lust.
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