Not quite like Aunty 'Melda

I know I've got lots of shoes. I've got boxes and boxes of shoes under the bed, inside my cabinet, and a pair or two on every stair going up our apartment. Flip flops, boots, kitten healed stilletos, trainers, slippers, pink ballet shoes with sparkley things on them so they look like rainbow trout. The thing is, I don't really feel like I've got a shoe fetish. It's not like I can't walk past shoe shops without going in, I'm not desperate to own Manalo Blaniks and I don't stand by a shoe shop window cooing "hello lover" or anything.... And to make matters worse, I don't even wear most of them, for several, very good reasons:

1. Won't wear them if they are not waterproof, and in Britain, that's quite important. If there is even the remotest chance that my feet could get wet, the shoes will stay in their box, waiting for an elusive sunny day.
   
2. If the shoes have got a heal, then I find as soon as I get to the end of the street my feet feel like they're important documents, being shredded into tiny, little pieces, and it's really unsightly watching someone walk along, blood trailing behind, and stumps at the ends of their legs, encased in painful torture devices.
   
3. If they've got a heal that resembles anything like a stiletto (oh yes, even if the heal is only 1/2 an inch high), I can't even walk from one end of my room to the other without falling over. Honestly, I've tried. It's really embarrassing.
   

This means that in my world, the trainer is king.

Having said all that, I must have some sort of disease because I have found some really cool boots (thanks to design*sponge) by Tamara Henriques that I love, and I fully intend to track them down here in London so I too can own a pair of wellies, that I will never ever wear.

I want them, especially the S&M loving black cowboy boots. Yeeha grandma. Find your very own pair here.