Shoes

 

A beautifully clear and crisp day. A morning walk, in the mist and sunshine, with the frost under my feet. So periodically, I looked down at my feet, crunching over icy ground, only to have my spirits lifted by the sight of my Doc Martens. I've got a pair of cherry red "Made In England" ten-hole boots, just a wonderful pair of shoes to walk around in, as you'd expect. but the reason I still have a pair is less to do with the efficacy of the shoes, and more about the heady rush of nostalgia that surrounds DM's. 

At my school, literally, everyone wore them. I'd guess that around 75% of the boys had DMs. Cherry Red was a particular favourite - normally polished with black boot polish, so that, eventually, they'd end up the colour of a livid bruise. Proper 1970's hooligan style. I think I had a black pair, but what I do remember, is being obsessed with the look and the style of them, plus the way that a simple pair of boots afforded you entry to a wider group of your peers. Wear a pair, and belong. 

I'll always recall seeing the outline of the boots, as I walked to and from school, the curve of the toe-piece, the geometric lines along the sides of the sole. The network of creases that formed, as they aged. 

I can look down now, and I'm transported. It's a wonderful feeling.