I would like you to consider this blog a preamble to the upcoming Croatia issues, to be posted over the coming week (or month, or sporadically, or not at all – you know how patternless my updates are).
To contextualise, I was in Croatia last week and will write a series of blogs on what I did there, contrary musings and outright lies. This was my first proper holiday abroad in about six years; so I wasn’t used to holiday clothes, tanning, beaches, foreign people, currency that isn’t Sterling, or flip flops.
My ineptitude as a globe-trotter resulted in this purchase – a pair of £12 shoes. For the beach. Or whatever.
Yeah, that’s right. Following a long line of ridiculous fashion purchases, those are bright orange canvas shoes. Orange canvas is, of course, only really acceptable in Rousseau. After considering the place of these shoes behind the silver jeans and endless “smock-like shirts”, I thought the best course of action was some hardcore bleaching.
White is always acceptable. Unless you consider white jeans – especially when attending a formal award ceremony (though they do go largely unquestioned in a strip club).
The shoes underwent a triple bleaching with Domestos, Cif, and – for good measure – a different bottle of Domestos.
By this point, the smell was getting to me. And the rest of the house. I was thinking about weird Victorian abortions and – since my crappy shoes could survive being drenched in bleach – whether or not I would survive if I drank straight from the Domestos bottle. I decided it was time to end this obvious failure of an experiment.
…And rip the soles off them
Epic shoe fail? I think so. I can’t decide whether the biggest insult to this fashion injury is that:
a) I spent over a tenner on shoes, just to ruin them with my incompetence
b) They were effectively replaced by a £3 white pair from Primark
c) The stupid orange shoes were next to a white pair in H&M
d) I overspent on holiday (see aforementioned incompetence) and could really do with that £12 right about now…