Stalag Ice Age has me within its barbed wire and security camera monitored precincts. Chagford seems a long way off. Despite the high speed trains from Brussels to London passing regularly outside.
Amongst my touring highs… where I have dined on lobster with a Slovakian princess in Vienna, had Thai with her royal highness at her palace in Bangkok, sipped champagne with A listers at the Cafe de Paris and drunk an icey beer in the namib desert while waiting for the fresh-killed goat to roast… there must also be lows. Tonight was one.
Needs must… a week on the road already and there’s only one working machine to deal with seventy plus sets of grubby workwear, so I take advantage of this night of revels to watch my smalls rotate.
Age is never kind.
I took these shoes out of my wardrobe, as I wanted something comfy to slip into when I get out of the mammoth on the ice. I remembered them as being just right… but the years have not been kind, and on first wearing, the rubber soles began to disintegrate and came away from the leather uppers.
There are days when my skin seem separate from my soul.