On Friday, me and the girls headed into Avignon to catch some of the summer drama festival. however, as we were accosted by various performers of the Off, the informal performances of the festival, we found that all the shows that we wished to attend weren't on on Friday. Thus we decided to stay in town and mooch, my favourite activity, until we needed to pick someone up from the train station in the evening. You can imagine my joy when we reached a shoe shop we had passed on the way into town which had been closed, through whose window I had glimpsed a beautiful pair of ankle boots. I made a beeline for them as soon as we came round the corner to it.
Unfortunately they had too big a price tag.
However, I risked being accused of being an industrial spy and went into a secluded corner selling orange mens' loafers and snapped a couple of shots.
At first I was in love. It was only when my mother pointed out that their black velvet was already scuffed that my coveting of them began to fade. Still, their shape is so flattering to the foot, such a comfortable, femmy heel size, genius hooks for the fine laces. Sigh. Aren't they vaguely reminiscent of a previous century?