About 10 years ago, I looked a lot like this:
I looked like this because this IS me (the girl, not the rather gay-looking Dutch bloke in his turn ups) back in 2001 on my last night of a holiday in Kos. I’d gone with my sister and we’d had an amazing time. I was 29, newly single, newly contact-lensed, tanned and a size 10. Bless me. I was cute and neurotic. What I’d particularly like to draw your attention to is my feet.
I did have a better picture of these shoes (which I still have) but it’s temporarily misplaced and I’m far too lazy to get up, plug my printer in, find the photo in the album and scan the hard copy.
What I love about these beautiful shoes is just about everything: the sequins, the pinkness, the wedge (wedges = not falling and breaking ankles) and my beautiful, brown feet with lovely painted toenails.
That was then.
This is now.
Spot the difference?
I never thought I’d be in the crocs brigade, but they’re so… farm useful! When you sweep up the front room twice a day because of all the dirt, you don’t want to add to it by bringing in dirt. Wellies and boots and trainers are hard to get off quickly and you can’t ‘in and out’. Plus, they’re so damn comfy.
What you might also spot are various wounds, not to mention the fact I’ve had seven serious sprains since 2001 and stress fractures galore since I decided running 100k a week was a good thing to do. Note to 29-year-old self in the eventuality of time travel a la Bill and Ted: give up running and give up for good.
The problem with the world beyond holidays is that farms have animals. And animals poo. France has insects and creepy crawlies and bugs and maggots that are two inches long. So much as I’d like to wear lovely shoes, I can’t.
Plus, it’s very easy to get stones out of crocs.
Another problem is that I tend to wear long trousers because we have nettles, thorns, bushes, stabby plants, cats, bouncy dogs and all manner of unpleasant things that scar the legs. Long trousers = good. But this means I have brown arms and a brown face, and white legs. Scratch that. I have grey and brown legs. Fabric doesn’t keep dirt from seeping through.
Notice the dirt.
Not that I thought fermette life would be glamorous. The chickens would probably peck the sequins anyway and it’s impossible to walk the dogs when you’re wearing 4 inch heels.
But… tonight, I am dousing my feet liberally in Burt’s Bees paraffin foot stuff and then I’m going to paint my toenails. A touch of glamour never goes amiss.