So tomorrow night I’m going to a friend’s house for cheese and wine to celebrate her 41st birthday. I don’t eat cheese but am tempted to have a glass of wine or two. This though will mean paying for a taxi home, for which the cost of the 11-minute journey – and that’s keeping to the speed limits, which taxis don’t – will be around the same price as a restaurant meal in Ireland. Mm dilemma. I’m lucky enough that I can afford the taxi but I just can’t get my ahead around the fact that the cost of visiting a friend is so extortionate. I rarely go out though, so I think I’ll swallow the fare and the wine and put it done to ‘life being short’ which is my answer to all sorts of indulgences.
The other far more important issue is shoes. Yes, as you know, I have plenty to choose from. The thing is though that people take their shoes off indoors here. You arrive all glammed up and tall, then cross the threshold and you’re padding around in your stocking feet, two inches shorter with trousers flapping around your ankles and under your feet. So of course, I’ll have to wear a skirt and tights to avoid the too-long trouser problem and then place my lovely shoes prominently at the door to be admired and marvelled over. Except they won’t be of course. Around here, they never get the attention they deserve.