"Blether - n. foolish chatter. - v.intr. chatter foolishly [ME blather, f. ON blathra talk nonsense f. blathr nonsense]" - Concise Oxford Dictionary.
Friday, March 16, 2007
Boot camp
I made an alarming discovery today. I think there is only one make of walking boot in the western world which fits me. Living in the boondocks as I do, and having a tendency to walk in all weather and preferably off-road, I wear my walking boots probably every day – unless, as today, I go to Glasgow and spend money. And part of the expenditure – the biggest single item – was a pair of Brasher Hillmaster boots. Ladies’ boots. I bought the same model of boot four years ago, and they have now turned up their toes, so so speak, and died. The soles are thin and the tread worn, but worse than that is the fact that the uppers are cracked across the middle, so that if it rains (I know this doesn’t happen often here – huh) I have wet feet without walking through a burn or sinking into mud.
Anyway, off I went to Tiso’s in Glasgow. The shop was quiet and the young man who served me attentive, so I tried on several other boots which he thought might meet my needs. All the same size (a whole size bigger than normal) and supposedly the same spec. And they were all excruciating – too tight, too stiff – you name it. I felt like Goldilocks. And so it was that I bought the same boot as last time. Only this time it’s got a Goretex lining, so presumably will be even better.
But right now, I’m going to mourn the old ones. RIP.
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Yes, boots really become old friends, don't they.
ReplyDeleteI also have Brasher's (not ladies) which have developed an alarming squeak as I walk - at least I think it is the boots and not my joints.
"...the young mad who served me..."
ReplyDeleteObviously the old boots' tendency to let in the wet have given you a cold in the dose. Please note the position of the apostrophe - I am not being rude (or should that be "rune"?)
Unless, of course, the young person in question was mad. And would that be in UK or US English?
As you know, I could go on for ever; but I have to be up betimes to welcome 47 members of the Lanarkshire battalion of the National Trust for Scotland to St M's for a quick tour. Ah! felix qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas, an' a' that.
Rather the labours of a day in the Big City rendered me stupefied and careless. It is a wonder to all that I had enough resolve left to blog these immortal words - let along correct the bally thing at midnight!
ReplyDeleteOK, it looks like I'm the only nerd who clicked your blog post title in my aggregator thinking you were now running two operating systems on one computer... I need to get out more!
ReplyDeleteGlad to have been of help. We night owls must stick together.
ReplyDelete(btw - the NTS worthies were from South Lanarkshire, so Friday's delivery of Buckfast communion wine (I jest not: I have the invoice to prove it) was not needed.)
Oh dear! A plethora of parentheses. Apologies.
ReplyDeleteHaving recovered from the excitement of having posts from AB and ABF on such an innocuous post, I shall merely add that visits from friendly nerds :-) are always welcome and that I am glad to see that even ABF (with his notorious fussiness about epistolary style) is susceptible to parenthesis plague.
ReplyDeleteAnd I think there are far too many "that"s in that sentence!