A change of pace.

Life can be hectic. I spend much of my time, racking my brains, to remember the zillion things that have to be done- and trying to fit them all in. Get washing done, buy new socks for Rachel, do the food shopping, fill in the funding applications, prepare for teh holiday, register with this agency, tell that agency what you are looking for. Ring this person, to obtain this information, for that person, and dont forget to ring so and so, to check what they need you to do. There can be days, when the day starts in earnest at 6am, then I collapse in a tired heap, by 9pm.

Then every so often, all that goes out of the window- and the pace changes. Forgotten are the endless lists of things that I should do, and hello, to two or three days, where my priorities change, and my life centres on myself, good friends, and stopping to watch the world go by. While my birthday didnt offer this precious time, the days that followed, when Rachel went to her fathers, offered this plentifully.

Up until 6pm on my birthday, my day was spent trying to manage on little sleep, due to Rachels surprise present of a vomiting and diarrhea bug(the smell of which still lingers on my sofa…apparently bicarbonate of soda, or biological washing powder will shift it- I should add that to the list of things I need to do). I was sorting washing, trying to remove the debris from my house, in order to get ready for people arriving. Thinking that maybe the sensible thing to do, would be to cancel my plans- and when her dad picked her up, and my boyfriend went home- that I should just curl up and catch up on sleep, trying to eliminate the bloodshot tired eyes, and aching body that I had earned- while trying to make Rachel feel better.

I am very glad I didnt. While I didnt manage to cook the meal that I had planned, which had become impossible while dealing with the chaos that an ill child brings, I should have remembered that the state of my house, and the meal I never cooked- were not the reasons that people were coming.

Perceptions of what would be expected, vanished into thin air- to be replaced by two days of talking, being around people that I liked. With the aid of bottles of cava, endless cigarettes, food eaten if and when the energy could be brought about to cook. Visits to the local second hand market to buy random stuff(an awesome mini etch a sketch key ring, an artists doll, and a teaset and jigsaw for Rachel), and a long afternoon spent slowly drinking in a local pub, where the aged hunchback landady rules over it like a queen, providing sweets, barking insults, and bawdy craic, alongside cheap doubles, and no stella, because the pump was broken. Being caught in the rain, and thinking this wasnt so terrible- until the skin on my arms- shows goosebumps in protest at my lack of sunshine and warm clothing.

Ejection from one life, straight into another- forcing my body to accept a change of pace- so that deciding what to eat, and where to eat, was a task which in a lazy, relaxed state, took as long as cleaning the house from top to bottom, ringing the people on my to do list, and getting Rachel to bed. The pace of my thinking slowed, and now, after my house is empty again, I am trying to get my body and mind, back into a place where I can change pace again.

Only with total relaxation, and a sleepy drawling thought process- I figure that for today- the list of a zillion things I should do, can go out of the window. I have checked my phone and there are 7 texts, and 3 missed calls, and I should probably open my post. But actually, I think I may tidy up a bit- have a cup of tea- bring Rachel home from nursery,a nd continue this pace just for today. Dinner doesnt have to be anything special- leftover potato salad, and some cold fish cuts, and when Rachel is in bed, a movie, and an early night.

I can return to life ‘proper’ tomorrow, and am sure this sleepy drawling state, will have been replaced by me tearing my hair out, and doing everything at once. I shall do this again soon.

Although I should probably start trying to locate a replacement for the dead sunflower, which is showing no signs of reviving on my windowsill.

So shallow. Isnt it fun?

Look at these shoes. Seriously, look at them.

http://www.dune.co.uk/catalogue/style.asp?r=43&g=52&y=S09LLE41SDC037V

They are beautiful. Seriously sexy shoes. From the skyscraper heel- to the zip up the heel seam that implies dominatrix- to the platform which makes them appear difficult to walk in, but actually reduces the heel by an inch.  A duck egg blue, that allows you to look like you are wearing acid brights, but which actually is muted enough to make them versatile.

Now I know for a fact, that several of you will be looking at these shoes, and thinking that only a sado masochist would consider walking in them. I am fairly sure that some of you will be reading this, in disgust, that any woman who describes herself as a feminist,  could possibly see these shoes as anything but a mysogynistic symbol of womens subservience, and patriarchal oppression through objectification of women.

But I dont care. I am shallow. And I love these shoes. As someone who has been in heels since the age of 10, and who prayed throughout her adolescent that the almish clumpy heels of the nineties would go away, while I was still young enough to enjoy the resurgence of the stiletto, I am saying out in the open- I covet these shoes. I want them.

And as luck would have it- the yearly renewal of my tax credits, resulted in an extra payment this week. An unexpected windfall- which I am absolutely aware should not be spent on these shoes. I know that my rent is due in two weeks, and although it is covered, should ensure that I dont have a weeks panic- by NOT buying these shoes.

I am aware that I have bills that are more pressing. But actually, with some mathematical gymnastics, that would defy Einstein- but which are totally logical. I can actually afford these shoes. I have managed to reduce the cost of the train tickets to my holiday by twenty quid, and as the shoes are already half price- that means I have saved sixty whole great british pounds sterling. Which in effect means that these shoes are twenty quid. Which means not only can I afford to buy them, but not to buy them, would be an act of such financial stupidity, and fiscal irresponsibility, that I could not live with myself if I didnt. Also tis my birthday next week….

So I opened up the webpage, and gleefully pressed BUY. Then I went through another window, and pressed BUY. Then I went through another window, entered more personal information about myself than my closest friends know. Am fairly sure that they wanted a cervix measurement, and a potted sexual history- and then the message. ‘There was a problem with your order-please check and try again’. I go back, I check the card details, I check the address, I check to ensure there is actual cash available to buy said shoes. I check to ensure that the myriad of information the Dune website wants from me- and hey presto-NO BLOODY JOY!!! Please contact your issuing bank. THe problem isnt my issuing bank, its your bloody website. I go through the contact details- I send them an email. Nothing. Naddah.

I have the money to buy my shoes. I have the visions of me wearing these shoes with a yellow cashmere/wool mix dress, or with a beautiful white silk dress, with a blue and yellow oriental print round the bottom. And I cant have them.

The problem is bastardisation of free market economics. I have decided.  The customer is supposed to be king, and consumer sovereignty means that supply and demand will mean that the market will always provide what the customer needs. Basic principle of free market economics? Well, when the distance between the customer and the business is now so vast, and there are so few ways for the two communicate-without pressing upteen buttons, going through seventy six million call centres, with six zillion menus, before you reach an apology monkey, with less power than you- who really cant help- cos thats the system. Consumer is no longer king. And I cant have my shoes.