Forwards and occasionally sidewards – everyday musings of life

My right foot suffered a major trauma during my trip to Glasgow, and I am still feeling the lingering effects this morning.

In fairness to my right foot, I have been wearing exclusively flip-flops and trainers since the beginning of May, courtesy of the glorious summer weather we’ve enjoyed. To suddenly trap it inside a stiff, smart leather brogue and expect it to sprint for delayed trains, hike across city pavements, and remain comfortable for hours on end was an outrageously high expectation—and one that proved entirely too much for my heel to bear.

As the first day in Glasgow progressed, a patch of bare skin became increasingly raw. By the time I finally removed the shoes back at the hotel, my foot was in full revolt. I knew I couldn’t wear those brogues for another minute. Unfortunately, in my relentless pursuit to travel light, I had foolishly packed no alternative footwear whatsoever. I was going to have to go shoe shopping.

A quick Google search identified a couple of local shops allegedly open until 7:00 PM. If I moved fast, I could just make it. Drawing on my familiar knowledge of Glasgow’s layout from my time working here, I took a series of clever shortcuts to the first shop—only to find it firmly closed. Google had lied, or at least the shop hadn’t bothered updating its opening hours. My heel complained bitterly about the wasted mileage.

At 6:45 PM, I marched on to the second option. Also closed. My foot delivered another surge of agony in protest.

It was time to execute Plan B: sourcing a heavy-duty plaster from the station newsagent—the sort of shop that sells every conceivable emergency item required by desperate travellers.

The plaster offered immediate relief, my foot calmed down, and I hobbled back towards the hotel, frantically scheming how to disguise my newly acquired limp from my colleagues.

“Oh, this limp?” I rehearsed in my head. “It’s nothing, really. Just an old injury acting up from when I was downhill mountain-biking… or skydiving… or free-solo climbing in the Alps over the summer.”

I initially thought that might sound quite heroic, until I remembered that every single one of my colleagues knew full well I’d spent the entire summer living in a caravan in Wiltshire while waiting for a house renovation to finish. Extreme sports were out. I was simply going to have to disguise the limp.

As I limped past a homeless chap on the street, I briefly caught myself wondering if he’d consider a swap. His footwear looked delightfully broken-in and not unlike my trusty trainers back home. I quickly checked myself, realising what a thoroughly uncharitable thought that was—inflicting these torture devices on another human being would be downright cruel.

Plan C was simply to remove the offending shoe at every available opportunity. Which I did. I trotted to the lunchtime buffet in my socks, sat shoe-less on the train, and padded around the hotel lobby in pristine black cotton.

That, after all, is the true beauty of modern life. You can wear practically anything in any situation, and I’m fairly certain a crisp business suit paired with socked feet is becoming the next big corporate fashion trend.

If it isn’t, I’m claiming the credit for starting it.