The sun is trying very hard to peep from behind the clouds, to once more spread its rays across the patio where we are sitting, some say the dark puffs in the sky are the result of the volcano in the Canary Islands.
We are on the terrace overlooking the valley and interestingly watching birds in the adjoining campo. There are Swallows, with their white markings speedily swooping and diving as they collect the bugs out of the air. It is a ritual they do around this time of year before lining up on the electric cables preparing for their flight down South, where we are told in the ‘Bird Book,’ they emigrate to, predominantly South Africa via the Sahara Desert, returning to Spain in the spring.
A fantastic sight watching their twists and turns at high speed, some coming close to where we are sitting, a glass in hand, ducking, trying not to spill the liquid as it seems they will collide with us. But they turn away smartly to collect something out of the air and continue with their antics.
My wife and I are chatting about general things and some of the mis-leading items that are published on social media. For instance the person who wanted to sell a sofa stating ‘we do not have any pets so there are no hairs on it’ in the background of the picture is a cat sitting on a table. There was another, a self-portrait of a guy, who must have been late for an appointment as he posted that he was stuck in traffic. In the dark sunglasses he was wearing some bright person recognised the reflected image of an empty road, which must have been in front of him.
I do not know why shoes come to mind, certainly I could not see any swallows wearing any – now that was silly – but while watching them in their actions the mind wonders to events in the past.
So what is it about shoes? Female ones I mean! I am told by the Guinness book of records that the owner of the largest collection of shoes is Ms Darlene Flynn who owns over fourteen thousand pairs. But what is it about shoes that Darlene loves so much? “They are beautiful, they are feminine,” Darlene continues. “My favourites are the ones that are the most unique, or the ones I bought in the different states and countries I have travelled in.”
Digressing slightly – there is a stall in a Sunday market that sells miniature high heel shoes – why? They are too small to be worn even by a toy doll.
What started this train of thought was an event that happened in nineteen eighty. At that time, we lived in the West Country and my in-laws lived in West Essex, with London and over one hundred miles in between us.
This is very sad and brings a lump to my throat as my father in law was very ill. My wife had gone back to help the his nursing but unfortunately, one year into his retirement, he left us.
It seemed pointless for me and our youngest daughter to leave any earlier than the day of the funeral, so on that morning my lady told me that as our child did not have the required colour adornment for her feet, we needed to buy some black shoes for our offspring before travelling to attend the event. It seemed a simple task, take our thirteen-year-old into the Bristol shopping centre and buy the needed item. But I did not understand the importance of shoes for the female.
First there was the problem, as always, of finding somewhere to park, nevertheless we were there as the shops opened … plenty of time. The first shop and the pair of black shoes fitted well and looked right, but, daughter said she did not like them and after the shop assistant searched, without success, for another type we left and went to a second shop.
No matter how much I begged, maintaining that time was getting short, and she should make her mind up, it did not work. Six shops were visited before we went back to the first one to buy the initial pair she had tried on. We missed the event in Essex and I am not sure if I was ever forgiven for being absent.
Waste:
I often think about how untidy streets and other areas are, like the Cheltenham Festival after the revellers have left, with the ground awash with rubbish, similar to the seaside beaches when the sun has gone down. Early one day we witnessed the next generation of a couple of ‘waste trainees’ in action.
We were once more sitting on a terrace, this time outside a Chinese Restaurant. Not far from us on another table were two women, perhaps in their late twenties, who incidentally had parked their two cars in the middle of a small car park, blocking in others.
One had a little girl, the other a little boy, both the children were around about four or five years old. The two parents were busy chatting while the children did as they pleased.
The boy was busy collecting paper serviettes from the table and taking them to the pavement on a busy road and then dumping them in the road gutter. In the meantime, the young girl was busy peeling signs off the back of chairs. Neither of them were reprimanded for what they were doing. Yes, dear reader, I am old fashioned and weep at how the world is today.
From shoes to rubbish – I take my leave. Take care.
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