The Curse of Debbie Harry

Ever since the time Cat fell down a flight of stairs whilst in the middle of a conversation about Debbie Harry, and sustained a badly sprained ankle, DH has been a bit of a watchword for disaster.

So when I leave the table in the Chinese restaurant to visit the facilities, down a flight of stairs, and Dean tosses the name at me, I respond that it doesn’t work on me. I get down the stairs safely, but coming back up, I catch the heel of my gold sandals* on the edge of a stair, and it comes off my foot. I think it’s just pulled the shoe off, a little like when you continue walking and leave your shoe behind because it’s stuck in a crack in the pavement. But no, the buckle is broken, and the strap is ripped apart in two places. It is now a broken shoe.

I hobble back to the table, clutching my shoe. I can still walk in them, but I’m going to the theatre. I may see actors. How can I see actors with a broken shoe?!

We have some time before the play starts, and not too far to walk, so we call in at the new M&Ms store in Leicester Square, where Cat offers me some fluffy slippers.

Dean points out that we can make it to Clarks on Regent Street. We do, but they have possibly the poorest selection of women’s shoes I’ve seen in a long time. We pop into Austin Reed. I ask for anything in a size 6 – only not pink! They only HAVE pink.

I have to give up. I can actually walk in my shoes. It’s just that it feels very noticeable. It doesn’t matter how many times I’m told no one is going to look at my feet.

We arrive at the theatre, and take our seats. The row in front of us is occupied by the cast of The Tempest, including Ralph Fiennes.

It’s a good job he can’t see my feet!

*I bought the shoes for the same event where Cat fell down the stairs and it was an effort to find the perfect pair. They’ve done good service, but it’s not going to be easy to replace them.