My poor, poor feet.
For a week they've been dressed like the first day of school in too big socks sliding down to the toes of ugly shoes. By day they're incased in snow-proof wellies, by night the chilblains are kept at bay by market-bought and distinctly non-saucy bed socks.
Some people may long for the oooh and the ahhh of ferreting their work-weary feet into their slippers or collapsing Ugg boots, but not I. Nope, nope.
I want to wear stilettos with heels sharp enough to pierce a man's heart. I want to trot around in 5 inch pumps and strut along in vertiginous wedges. I do not want to wear calf doubling, 'comfortable' shoes any longer.
So weather, listen up. Stop snowing. The people on the M6 last night didn't think it was cute or fun (well after the first five minute South vs North snowball fight it certainly wasn't); those with broken, bent or buckled cars don't find the snowy lanes pretty or picturesque and there's only so many snowmen/snowball fights/sledge runs you can enjoy before you realise you really have to go back to work. So just stop now. Stop. NOW.
These people however have retained their style despite the snow. Bastards.
