Harry's Boy
Vital Reserves Team
It must be admitted, I own a dog. Not a small, easily cared for type, but a bloody great brown job, the walking of which has been my sole enjoyment of late. See my other post for reasons, I'll not bore you with repetition.
Now we cover a fair few miles a day and consequently, we're both looking leaner and fitter than in a long time. That, and the necessarily parsimonious food provision have been good for us. Every cloud, as they say, has a silver lining.
Footwear, though, has become an issue. Distance like we do destroys ordinary trainers in a jiffy. I, unless I'm happy to hobble, need a good sturdy pair of walking shoes. The trouble is, my three year old pair have long since reached the end of the line: proofness against moisture stopped being an issue many moons ago. Resistance to sharp stabbing agonies through the soles is all but forgotten. In plain and simple truth, I need a new pair or I'm going to need new feet.
When you're skint, the last expense you need to face is a new pair of what are, to all intents and purposes, 'leisure shoes'. So I set about perusing discount websites. This elicited various exclamations of the, "Jesus Christ!" variety. Price, it would appear, was going to be a hurdle upon which I would fall down. So a dark and dreadful plan began to form unconsciously in my mind. I'd heard of a place a desperate man such as myself could go...
Round here, my affections for NUFC and my opinions of its owner are well known. Should I enter into one of his emporia and make a purchase, my humiliation and degradation before my peers would be complete. My hypocrisy would be exposed for all to see. Yet, I'd heard rumours of prices on goods even I could afford.
I girded my loins, waited for an opportune moment when nobody I knew was in sight, and I slunk in...
I stood before a wall where, emblazoned upon many an example of potential long distance footware was the once-noble name 'Karrimor', and, truth to tell, I felt temptation...
I recalled a fine rucsack that I'd backpacked around Europe with in my youth. That had lasted years, camping trip upon camping trip. Karrimor meant quality to my younger self. Could it still impress?
I picked up the shoe and turned it in my hand. I noted the imitation 'Vibram' sole, felt the cheapness of the upper's suede and mused on how many rocks that pathetic rind would withstand.
And suddenly, the revelation was complete! This shoddy, cut price item was the living embodiment of what The Foul Beast had wreaked upon our Club. I could not buy that item, even to tide me over the relatively less punishing summer. I dropped the item, turned slowly and with my head held high, I exited the shop. My integrity (almost) complete...
Now we cover a fair few miles a day and consequently, we're both looking leaner and fitter than in a long time. That, and the necessarily parsimonious food provision have been good for us. Every cloud, as they say, has a silver lining.
Footwear, though, has become an issue. Distance like we do destroys ordinary trainers in a jiffy. I, unless I'm happy to hobble, need a good sturdy pair of walking shoes. The trouble is, my three year old pair have long since reached the end of the line: proofness against moisture stopped being an issue many moons ago. Resistance to sharp stabbing agonies through the soles is all but forgotten. In plain and simple truth, I need a new pair or I'm going to need new feet.
When you're skint, the last expense you need to face is a new pair of what are, to all intents and purposes, 'leisure shoes'. So I set about perusing discount websites. This elicited various exclamations of the, "Jesus Christ!" variety. Price, it would appear, was going to be a hurdle upon which I would fall down. So a dark and dreadful plan began to form unconsciously in my mind. I'd heard of a place a desperate man such as myself could go...
Round here, my affections for NUFC and my opinions of its owner are well known. Should I enter into one of his emporia and make a purchase, my humiliation and degradation before my peers would be complete. My hypocrisy would be exposed for all to see. Yet, I'd heard rumours of prices on goods even I could afford.
I girded my loins, waited for an opportune moment when nobody I knew was in sight, and I slunk in...
I stood before a wall where, emblazoned upon many an example of potential long distance footware was the once-noble name 'Karrimor', and, truth to tell, I felt temptation...
I recalled a fine rucsack that I'd backpacked around Europe with in my youth. That had lasted years, camping trip upon camping trip. Karrimor meant quality to my younger self. Could it still impress?
I picked up the shoe and turned it in my hand. I noted the imitation 'Vibram' sole, felt the cheapness of the upper's suede and mused on how many rocks that pathetic rind would withstand.
And suddenly, the revelation was complete! This shoddy, cut price item was the living embodiment of what The Foul Beast had wreaked upon our Club. I could not buy that item, even to tide me over the relatively less punishing summer. I dropped the item, turned slowly and with my head held high, I exited the shop. My integrity (almost) complete...
