Guest Blog Post by JJ Ghatt – Little Red Riding Boots

A while ago I blogged about the semi-serious issue of Dressing to Look like a Lawyer, or in my case, not dressing like a lawyer.  Through this post I met the absolutely fabulous Jeneba Jalloh “JJ” Ghatt who finds that people generally underestimate her legal abilities based on the fact that she is fashion forward (see her blog post Funny, You don’t Look Smart) .  It would be a your first and last mistake as an opponent to underestimate this seriously sexy, sassy, smart lady.

JJ is the managing principal of two highpowered complimentary businesses in Washington DC – JJ Ghatt Public Relations LLC and  The Ghatt Law Group (a boutique firm specialising in business, media and entertainment law firm). This would be quite scary enough for most people. What really impresses me about her is that  she juggles being a wife and mother of three kids (2 boys and a girl) with writing two excellent blogs Mischiefmakers about her kids and Belly Itch i(lots of pregnancy fashion, exercise and sanity tips as well as a healthy dose of humour).  She also appears on Twitter as @JJGhatt and I check in regularly for her shoe stalking Twitpics.  All in all, if she was not such a friendly, funny and generous person I would be extremely intimidated by her.  As it is,  I am delighted that someone who is a true Legal Power Babe (as my pal @casus_belli would call her) is championing the Boot Cause here.  Ladies, if you were not convinced by the power of the boot, read on before rushing out to buy a pair in the January sales.


You know I am hating you right now?” he said.

I thought to myself, “what in the heck is this guy saying to me this late hour in the evening.” It was such a weird comment to hear from the tall dark overpowering man who had sauntered in my direction away from the flock of his other uniformed police officer buddies congregating near the condiments station at the local Starbucks.

He said it again. I tried to play it off and laughed nervously, flashing an innocent smile, surely still looking bewildered.  I didn’t pick it up then, but I believe he was flirting with me. This is how cops pick up chicks?

Really, I didn’t “get” his intro line at all.  Certainly, he hadn’t noticed my wedding ring at that point.

Finally, I gave in and said, “um why?” (are you hating me, that is)

Your boots! Sick!” he replied with a bizarre grin. It struck me as odd to hear a man comment about something like red calf length riding style boots. I was of the impression that only women bothered to let other women know they liked whatever fashionable thing another woman was wearing. I didn’t even know if dudes did stuff like that.  At that point, I began to think maybe he wasn’t flirting with me after all. Perhaps he is/was a flaming closet shoe freak trapped in the body of a six foot three burly black man. Could my red leather Franco Sarto Brazilian made boots been that captivating to have this man burst out the closet so?

I am so mad at you,” he continued. “You knew what you were doing when you got those boots didn’t you? You knew you’d make people jealous?”

Alas, the answer was “no.” I had to confess to him that I did not recall what my impressions were when I first purchased those pair of boots.  I wasn’t even certain in what year I bought them. I know I probably was struck by the style and color. Most of my shoes and boots before them were probably muted blacks, browns and other safe colors. I come from a corporate background and have worked in strict business environments for most of my 10 plus years career in law. I am a Virgo, a type A person, an eldest and essentially have all the makings of an uber conservative dresser. So those boots were/ are an anomaly for me.

I do vividly recall, however, the last time I received such a visceral response to those boots. It was the first time I flaunted them at an entertainment industry event at the Black Entertainment Television studios in DC in 2006, I think.

All the players in the communications industry were there, including many of my old colleagues and friends, quite a few of them who still worked in corporate legal offices and in top law firms representing media powerhouses.

By that time, I had struck it out on my own and was a year into running my own boutique communications law firm. Calling the shots. Making up my own rules, so to speak.

I knew that evening walking into that reception, housed in a large shafty studio space, that I indeed looked quite FIERCE! I was rocking those Red Riding boots, a black pencil skirt and a ruffled high collared blouse. I carried a red Baby Phat satchel purse with gold accents and to top it off, my hair was Auburn colored twisted lochs. I looked so ANTI-CORPORATE it could’ve been illegal.

Colleague after colleague walked over to me and commented on my ensemble. At least one person mentioned that it must be liberating to dress in whatever I wanted. Not that I am the type of person to feed off of others’ envy, but I must admit, it felt great to be my own woman, standing tall in my own bought and paid for red accented bravado!

Fast forward back to the Starbucks last week, as I walked out the coffee shop after picking up my drink, I tipped my cup at the officer and offered him one last smile. He grinned and as I passed I think I caught him take one last peek at the boots, taking them in one last time as I sashayed out the door and disappeared into the darkness that was a snow-slushed shopping center parking lot. Who knew red stretch riding boots could catch a cop if they wanted!? ha!

I think these puppies will get upgraded to the front of the shoe closet, yes?

Red Riding Boots

Who needs spelling when you have a heart*?

What I really, really wanted for Christmas was a pair of custom made ballet boots, rather like these:

Doris Kloster: Photographs by Doris Kloster Publisher: Benedikt Taschen Verlag, 1996

I did not get them, which is just as well because we really do need a new settee and chairs for the living room. A new living room suite will cost about the same as the boots and more of the family will fit on the former than the latter.

Earlier this week my Blog-Mentor, the Not Drowning Mother gave me a gift that cheered me up almost as much as the boots would have done.

Here it is:

The positive side of receiving this I Love Your Words Blog Award is that The Not Drowning Mother (The NDM) someone who inspired me to start blogging, has published some extremely flattering things about me. Her humour and her writing discipline are just two of her talents that I aspire to but am sadly unlikely to ever achieve.  The attention is very welcome though and probably  enough to ensure that I am nice to everyone in Casa Della Calcei for at least the length of time that it takes me to re-read and bask in the compliments again. Tonight, I will get He Who Cooks to read me the NDMs blog post again in his best Robbie Coltrane impersonating Sean Connery impersonating Elmer Fudd accent to see if it gets me through the daily dinner, bath and bed-time debacle. It would certainly be a cheaper alternative to Scotch.

The negative side of receiving this Award is that a condition precedent of receipt was that I pass it on within 5 days.  Before agreeing to receive the Award IN THE FIRST PLACE, I should have clarified with the NDM whether or not the definition of 5 days was working days or calendar days. However, as 5 days have now elapsed I think that I am time-barred arguing any defect of intention of the part of the offeree. In any case, it is not so much who to pass it on to that concerns me but writing a piece that adequately describes the warmth of my affection for that person.

When I received the award the first person that sprung to mind was my good friend @Aprilke for her Life Slight Used blog. She describes herself as:

An actor, A mother of two, prone to various assorted illnesses, a creator of bizzare poetry, unable to sleep till 3am and an avid devourer of books.

Her blog is an eclectic delight – there is a warmth and childhood whimsicality about her writing. I am not sure how and we met on Twitter but one day I felt that I had a someone there watching over me.  Aprilke has gone through a lot of pain and unhappiness and accutely and accurately picks up that pain in others. With a few gentle words she always manages to make me feel better.

One thing that saddens me is that she has been made to feel uncomfortable  by someone, a so-called friend, relative or acquaintance, about her grammatical, spelling and puctuational errors.  I make the same errors and yet no-one has yet pointed this out to me  (the general criticism that I receive about my blog is from male readers about the amount of thigh flesh exposed therein – it is too much or not enough depending on the particular individual). No one has ever pointed out to me the horrific number of typographical errors, split infinitives and other grammatical sins, laudatory word repetition,  overuse of brackets and the absence of any punctuation marks that normally appear on the right hand side of a computer keyboard (I have no ability to insert quotation marks, square brackets or apostrophes).  If I were to write a legal letter for a client with as many typos as I drop into a blog post,  they would probably get a 20% reduction on their bill.  It may be that the visitors to this blog:

(a)   just look at the pictures; and/or

(b)    are all much too fond of me to say anything about my terrible use of the English language.

So I would say to the individual that criticised Aprilke for her typos – I would rather read writing with soul than grammatically correct English. April has a huge heart – I do not  give a flying fart whether she can spell or not.

Et voila – with a flourish I present thee, sometimes Rachel sometimes April depending on your mood, with the I Love Your Words blog award. You have 5 business days from the acceptance to pass it on.  Acceptance can be by RT or comment on this blog post. Offer is open for acceptance within 24 hours.

*Post Script: My husband would like it to be known that I have promised to refrain from correcting his grammar and just type what he dictates to me  henceforward in letters to his clients. This is being typed with crossed fingers by the way.

Day 30 of the Shoe Challenge – Not Even Slightly Sparkly Sandals

There are times when I want to run away from all this festive carry on – as I get older the Twelve Days of Christmas represent nothing more than an excess of excessiveness. Too much frantic shopping, food, alcohol, excitement and activity.  In my case you can add too much footwear to the general excessive of the season.

If you read my blog post yesterday you might be forgiven for  thinking that I live a profligate life with little regard for anything but brightly coloured baubles.  Admittedly, I did nothing to dismiss accusations of  flippancy by sticking my legs in the air for an impromptu photoshoot on the boardroom table. It was fun at the time.

Bear in mind though that what you see of me and my shoes in this blog is what I want you to see of me.  The shoes that you have seen this week are the sparkling snow clad mountain top that pokes up  over a shoe collection that also includes sandals, flip flops, sandshoes and other entirely unglamourous things. By writing about brightly coloured shoes and boots though this week, I have been distracting myself from focussing on how far away my family is and how bereft that makes me feel.

The distance between Sydney and Paisley is something that I feel more keenly every year. Every year is a year closer to losing one and then finally both of my parents forever. Also, this year more than anything else in the world  I want to hold my 4 month old niece Rachel in my arms.

The greatest gift that I could have is the opportunity to nuzzle the side of her head where the hair is suede soft, to breathe in that exquisite sweet smell that babies until they start eating solids; to hug my sister and my parents hard and tell they are amazing.

So, please people – this Christmas please refrain from moaning about your families, as Rick Morton so eloquently puts it

The simple, sad fact of the matter is if you have a family, you are already doing better than most.

And spending the day with them on Christmas is a novelty indeed.

And so on Christmas Eve I have chosen to reveal possibly my favourite pair of sandals. These are simplest and most comforting sandals that I could find to wear. My Mum chose and bought for me with love on a trip to Israel a long time ago.

Now do me a favour – as soon as you can after reading this go do a wee bit of yoga for me, it will only take five minutes.  Find someone that you love – ask them for a hug. As you hug them attend to being in the moment of that hug. Don’t think about anything else or let anything distract your attention.  While you hug that person remember that every single one of us is loved like crazy by someone else. It is possible in a hug to find a moment of eternity and if you find it, let me know.

Happy Christmas x

Guest Blog by the Baby Lawyer – What I know about Women & their Shoes

 As part of proving that there are bona fide settlement negotiations under way in the matter of CAVEAT CALCEI  -v- BABY LAWYER, I am required to provide a guest blog for the aforementioned blogger.

For those who haven’t figured it out, I am a man, and therefore I am frequently bewildered by the obsession that women have with shoes.  Now I like to consider myself to be reasonably fashion savvy, I subscribe to a number of fashion blogs ( ,,, buy a lot more fashion and design magazines than your average straight male, and tend to notice when girls put in some extra effort to look good. But I have never understood two things.

  1. How much women like shoes.
  2. How much women like shiny rocks.

On numerous occasions I have witnessed women staring into a shop window with the kind of facial expression that one might expect to grace the face of a new mother, staring for the first time into the eyes of their first born son. Regarding the shiny rocks, in an attempt to curb my girlfriend at the time’s enthusiasm for diamonds, I hired the movie Blood Diamond. It is a movie starring Leonardo Di Caprio about the black market trade for diamonds in the African continent. The two things I took away from the movie were:

  1.  The use of child soldiers in the illegal diamond trade is one of the most horrifying issues facing mankind today.
  2. The control of the supply of diamonds by major diamond corporations which causes them to appear on the market at outlandishly inflated prices should be ceased immediately.

My girlfriend at the time took away the following:

  1. Leonardo Di Caprio has still got it.
  2. Pink diamonds are even nicer than clear ones solely because they are rarer, and the longer I have to wait to get one of them on my hand, the more miserable your life will be.

Men are practical, we like cars. They are beautiful, and we like the type of cars that help our ability to get from A to B as quickly as possible.

Fast Cars: Beautiful & Practical.

Sore Feet: Painful for women, painful for men to hear about.

Women are impractical, they like shoes. Whilst they may be beautiful, they like the type that hinders their ability to get from A to B as quickly as possible.

And do I need to create an analogy for the uselessness of a diamond, unless of course we need to discuss the industrial revolution with a focus on the technological advancements in 19th century glass manufacturing?

Perhaps I am being too pragmatic here…

We need consider the way that new shoes make a woman feel. I am not particularly impressed when a girl opens the box to show me a new pair of shoes, in fact I will mostly be considering the fact that it is likely that her buying this pair of shoes that are inches away from my face so that I can “smell the new shoe smell” will likely result in me having to pay for everything in the last week leading up to payday. However, if I manage to pull my undivided attention (sarcasm alarm) away from the shoes, and up to the girls face in time to catch a glimpse of the genuine smile that an inanimate and outrageously overpriced object can bring about, perhaps I too can appreciate the happiness that new shoes can bring. Or at least, appreciate the happiness until I discover that they were bought using my credit card…

Day 29 of the Shoe Challenge – Red & Green should never be seen*

For the last fortnight at approximately 7.30 am every morning on Tuesdays through Thursdays the Minx has thrown a tantrum of seismic proportions.  This invariably leads to me at approximately 7.45 am chucking her over my shoulder and heading off to daycare with her biting at my shoulders and kicking at my nose.  The Noisy Boy clucks and shakes his head sadly at me with that poignant amnesia that children demonstrate towards their own past transgressions.

Twice this week I have reached the daycare centre drenched in sweat, heart pounding with a sobbing Minx covered in snot. The lovely girls at the centre look at me with a mixture of pity and fear.

Yesterday, after managing to loudly and spectacularly lose the plot with the Minx outside our house setting the neighbours curtains a-twitching I had a huge attack of remorse. On the way into work on the train, I cried remembering the days when my daughter used to sigh with happiness and sink her cheek rather than her teeth into my collar bones when I picked her up.

In between sobs,  I sent a lengthy text to my husband pouring out my heart, expressing the full extent of my mother guilt and telling him that I an unfit mother who had lost the power of rational thought.  He replied:

– What started the tantrum off?

I stopped sniffing, had a wee think and replied:

– The usual: shoes & leaving the house.

His response:

– Is that all? Stop crying – you did the right thing. Just let her go without shoes tomorrow. Stick em in her day care bag. Stop worrying.

The Minx is at the stage in her life where self-determination is vitally important to her – she is asserting herself as best she can without words. Her appearance and personal comfort is part of  her sense of self and well being  – she likes to leave the house without being dressed and undressed too many times.  Simply, she prefers to make her own decisions about what to wear and what not to wear.  What would it be like – I wondered – to have someone else choose what I wore? To be honest, I would welcome this.  After many years of self-determination I would dearly love to relinquish the job of dressing myself to someone with better taste. So this morning I conducted an experiment. I made myself a cup of tea, logged on to Twitter and asked:

– So Twitter, is today a green shoe day or a red shoe day? Your decision 😉

The responses were interesting. Out of 10 voters 4 voted for the red shoes, 2 for the green and 4 for red and green.  The swing vote was for the red shoes but a second poll many people requested that I just wear both. So in the interests of social networking science and shoe blogging fairness I agreed to wear the red to work and photograph the red/green combination on arrival at the office.

You will be glad to know that this morning, I gave the Minx a graceful way out. We dressed her in a tee-shirt fit for day wear to go to bed. This morning I bunged on a skirt and chucked her sandals in her nappy bag. She picked up her own sun-hat and turned up the brim at a jaunty angle. We left the house and arrived at daycare in a much calmer and tantrum free state of mind.


*Acknowledgements: @calrion  @rockeye @mumto2angels @bevsullivan @rockchickgill @rexthecat @Dwendog @paul_rasmussen @snarkattack @voirol  @malevolentlala Thanks to you all x


Day 28 of the Shoe Challenge – Liturgical Colours – Advent Violet Boots

My husband and I have a friend called Ben. Ben has a special talent for cutting through bullshit rather like a hot knife through butter.  He has taught the Noisy Boy lots of useful things.

Those – said Ben, bathing the Noisy Boy for us one evening – are your man boobs. People call them moobs.  Stop eating chicken and they will go away.

For at least a year afterwards the Noisy Boy was preternaturally obsessed with his moobs. Now he has moved on and his obsession is grabbing the end of his willy,  holding onto it and pulling hard as if it were the inflation cord for  a life raft which, perhaps, it is.

Ben is also Godfather to the Noisy Boy. Since he is good at talking a lot about just about anything, most of it rude, and likes fishing He Who Cooks and I thought that he would be a splendid role model for our son. Except he is not a Catholic, which apparently breaks a whole bunch of Catholic laws that I did not think of at the time.

Ben does appear to appreciate the importance of Catholicism in  my life. By which I mean he never actually stops slagging me off for being a  Born Again Catholic. Apparently I quality as a BAC in that I did not step foot in a church between leaving home and having my son.  Occasionally, I try to remind him that there is actually no such thing as a born again Catholic. Being Born Again is an Evangelical Christian concept which involves going on some kind of crusade or revival or going to a Billy Graham rally or something similar. You  get one good bite at the Catholicism cherry at Baptism and that apparently keeps you going through all kinds of transgressions. Never let the truth get in the way of a good slagging though.

And that brings me to my purple boots. Not  that I like to tempt fate but I reckon that these boots would get the Vatican seal of approval. Since Pope Pius V, there are five colours associated with Roman Catholic masses: white, red, green, violet, and black. Violet is the liturgical colour worn by Roman Catholic priests for Advent, violet/purple is associated with penitence. The traditional colours of the Christmas day are White or Gold, symbolizing joy in the light of day. I am not a fan of white or gold shoes but come Christmas Day I will be adhering to my liturgical colours. We born again Catholics are oddly traditional that way.

Guest Shoe Post – Geoff King aka Fender4eva – The Shoes I Never Get to Wear

About  a month ago, I tried using a variety of feminine wiles to get a bloke called Geoff to blog post for me. I tried persistence, I tried conniving, I tried crying, I tried pretending I was not that interested in his shoes, wearing a classic scent and wearing a soft top that showed off my neck and shoulders.  He would not take the bait. As you may recall, that was the week that I ended up having to tie my my five year old son to a chair to get a blog post from him. I did give him ice cream afterwards.

Since then all my confidence in my female powers of persuasion have deserted me. This afternoon, completely, out of the blue I received an email from Geoff with this little gem attached.

So what has changed in a month? Is it the Christmas spirit (or spirits) or  could it my  wanton display of flesh have caused a short circuit in the Fender system?  Who knows but I would savour this moment while it lasts. He tells me that he has retired from blogging. Unless of course, his readership figures exceed Rick Morton’s or Mia Freedman asks him to, whichever event occurs earlier.


These shoes, in the picture, are a pair of smart casual moccasins that I wear whenever I take my bride somewhere nice. Oh, wait ! Thanks to the GFC and Centrelink combining to reduce our circumstances, we rarely go anywhere, so they are still in pristine condition, despite having been bought in the last century, or even the one before that.

As our trips out of Chez Fender are mostly for medical appointments, or to Woolies, there hardly seems much of a need to get dressed up, therefore my uniform de rigeur consists of jeans, any shirt which will match, and a pair of old comfortable New Balance joggers, which have definitely seen better days. Rather like their owner, really.

I bought them from The Athlete’s Foot, which I though appropriate, given that I run 10 k’s every day, in my imagination anyway. The assistant sold me a pair of inner supports, which would ensure I walked with a fine upright posture. As I prefer to slouch, they only lasted a week. Besides, they’re more comfortable without them. In fact, they’re as comfortable as a pair of slippers but wearing them out of the shower, in my bathrobe, doesn’t seem right and is definitely NOT a good look, given my stud status.

So, the joggers continue to give good service, and there’s a shiny new pair in the wardrobe waiting to replace them, in ten years, or so.

Day 27 of the Shoe Challenge – Blonde Bombshells & Black Satin Marabou Mules

Yield to the Night (1956)

They asked me to change my name. I suppose they were afraid that if my real name Diana Fluck was in lights and one of the lights blew…

Diana Dors (born Diana Mary Fluck 23 October 1931 – 4 May 1984)

I will admit that I love all things camp and kitsch. I do try to keep a firm check on my purchase of animal print clothes despite my secret admiration for the wardrobe of Dorien Green (Lesley Joseph) in Birds of a Feather. My husband, a potter,  has a strict no-ornaments- unless-he-or-one-of-his-friends-has-made-it rule. He has placed a restraining order against any of the  Royal Doulton ladies passed on by my gran entering our home. (I particularly loved this one, sad but true.)

Growing up in the Seventies and Eighties in Britain it is probably no surprise that I have a fondness for kitsch. I recall that the tabloid press were obsessed intermittently with one or another of the famous blondes of the time – i.e. Diana Dors, Barbara Windsor and Paula Yates.

Diana Dors - Publicity Shot

Young Barbara Windsor

Paula Yates

Each of them are excellent examples of the gritty yet camp British interpretation of the Hollywood blonde bombshell.

As a non-blonde, non-buxom person I once aspired (and possibly still aspire to the over the top sex appeal displayed by these ladies.) Interestingly though for someone packaged and delivered  to the public as an over made-up, artificial studio starlet, Diana Dors had the ability  to look and to act completely naturally on screen. In one of my favourite films, Yield to the Night (1956) she plays the role of a woman sentenced to hang for the murder of her lover with incredible restraint and skill.

Diana, Barbara and Paula Yates are the kind of women who went grocery-shopping in marabou mules.  Today I pay tribute to them with my boudoir heels bought ironically enough in  staid UK high street store BHS.

Day 26 of the Shoe Challenge – Pure Dead Ladylike Pumps

It never ceases to amaze me how pass remarkable people are on the way that other people dress. By pass remarkable I mean always ready with a critical or judgmental comment.  Nowhere is this more apparent than in the readers comments on The Sartorialist blog. On I was getting my usual vicarious fashion thrills when I came across a post featuring the gorgeous Lauren, a Sydney based burlesque dancer.

I am not sure what draws me more to her – the bright red hair, the huge smile or the fact that she reminds me of my little sister. What I do know is that if I met Lauren, I would want to talk to her and swap shoe (and other) stories with her. She looks like a lot of fun. Generally I do not tend to read the blog comments left by readers of the Sartorialist because I get irritated and getting irritated is a waste of energy. However this time I made an exception and surprisingly most of the commentators took the same view as me. There were at the time of writing 162 comments. Many people commented on her wonderful smile and her blue nail polish. A few folk enjoyed assigning the various component parts of the look to various fashion eras. One or two suggested stockists of similar nail polish.   A few looked beyond the actual outfit at the person underneath. One said:

Real faces are always infinitely more interesting than air brushed model faces. Model faces have a certain kind of beauty that’s valuable but rarely are they as arresting as some of the real street people that you find.

I LOVE how happy she looks !!!! How could she not look good when she has so much joy…..

All good stuff.

But then there were the people who really should have stopped, slapped themselves on the wrists and remembered the adage if you cannot say something nice, say nothing at all. The pass remarkable people (PRP) noted as follows:

PRP 1: Oh no! Her hair dye color is awful.

The earrings and bag r lovely.

PRP 2:  um… Maybe it’s time to come back to New York?

PRP 3: Amy Winehouse’s long lost sister.

So I got irritated and posted a comment on Twitter to that effect.  Thank goodness my rock god guest blogger Rick Morton (@rickofawesome )and Sonya (@gannet_guts) were there to deflect me.

Sonya said:

This is why I never read the comments on … pretty much anything these days! I’ll sprain my eyeballs otherwise.

Rick suggested that I get myself over to the Catorialist (fashion for cats blog) forthwith.

When things irritate me  I like to consider why that is.   One thing that I have learned from practising yoga is to observe  rather than react to discomfort. If a pose (asana) is uncomfortable, a yoga teacher will tell you to get past the discomfort by breathing and listening carefully for what your body and mind are trying to tell you. So these days instead of getting cross I try to let go of it,  let things settle for a bit until I figure out what is bugging me.

I am now pretty sure that the reason that I was irritated was that anyone that the Sartorialist features who dresses in anything other than an entirely groomed and conventional manner cops a pass remarkable comment.  That means of course, that I am taking offence on my own behalf, possibly because I identify style-wise more with Lauren than say the young stockbroker posted in the same week (on the left) who incidentally received more than a few nasty remarks about her shoes – sheesh).

So I decided to give the groomed, ladylike look a wee go. The hair was not straightened because it sulks like a wet cat when I do that.  I did, however, put on a navy pinstriped pencil skirt, white shirt, stockings, pearls and even bunged on a silk scarf at the last minute. The Roberto Vianni shoes made me do it.  They are 40’s style navy suede peep toe platform shoes and unlike me are pure dead ladylike*.

*For those unfamiliar with this term have a keek at this Wapeadia entry on Glaswegian Vernacular.

Day 25 of the Shoe Challenge – Patchwork boots & talking shite to strangers

With online purchases there is a intense thrill involved in uncovering buried treasure. For every amazing piece of vintage clothing I have uncovered online there have been two or three truly icky pieces.  The advantage of online vintage shopping is, of course, that you dont have to trawl through vintage & second hand stores redolent of mothballs with two small children in hand. That and the convenience of doorstep delivery thoroughly outweighs the chances of getting dreck.

By extension, online shoe purchases either turn out extremely well or very, very badly indeed.  I struck it lucky with these Faith boots which I bought from Ozsale quite cheaply. Faith Shoes are a truly great British brand so I was pretty sure that I would not be disappointed when I ordered them.  I bought a pair of black platform ankle boots and slinky high heeled mules in the same sale. Everything came in a very large box with Ladies Shoes written in Texta on the side. Even our wee postman appeared to be delighted for me when he delivered it.

I wore these boots today to meet an online friend for the first time in the flesh. An IRL meeting, as I would say if I was at all techie which I am not.  Walking up to the crystal department in David Jones took much longer than I expected (it always does in heels). While I was walking I considered  my online friends. Nearly everyone who has commented on or contributed to this blog is someone that I met via Twitter.  Many of these so-called strangers are people that I count as friends now notwithstanding that I have never actually met them. None of them has a brand name so am I taking a risk engaging with them at all? Would I still like them if they turned up on my doorstep?

So far I have not been disappointed. I met Alison Young (@scotinoz) , her daughter and her husband about a month ago. Meeting Alison was like meeting someone that I had known my whole life – which is not surprising really  given the fact that we are both from Paisley, both lawyers and both ex-pats.

Today I met @nomesmessenger who like me and like Alison is, in her own words, an un-lawyerly lawyer. She was introduced to me by another good friend @kissability who thought we would get on. After an hour and a half in her company I felt exhilerated, amazed and humbled by the dizzyness that accompanies meeting a new friend.

My husband describes the time that I spend on Twitter as time that I spend talking complete shite to complete strangers. Sometimes strangers become friends though and I am truly grateful for all of you.