This time last week I was feeling down. I even wrote a poem about it in a moment of goth-like angst.
This week I am feeling the giddy rush of new love.
I have the most fabulous new shoes! They are red. And summery. And they make me really, really tall, so that I have to duck to enter doorways.
I feel magnificent when I wear them. An Amazon. "Talk to the bosoms," I boom from above, "cos the face is busy."
It may be shallow and somewhat girly of me to have my mood lifted by footwear but it's cheaper than drugs, easier on my liver than alcohol and certainly better for my figure than ice cream. I am not going to give you fifty reasons why shoes are better than men because that sort of thing has been done to death already and also because I would have to qualify it with the fact that there are, in fact, some men who look just as good at my feet.