Please, please, please, please, please stop talking about shoes.
Look, I like shoes. Some I like better than others. I walk in them, play tennis in them, occasionally dance in them and sometimes I even muck out the chickens in them.
But I do not want to read about them, either in magazines, books or newspapers unless it's a humorous article which points out how ridiculously stupid and expensive some of them are or it's something poignant like my friend Marie's article here.
I also do not want to see them on the cover of any book. A book with high heels on it is like a red rag to a bull to me - it screams to me;
Hello, I'm another tedious piece of anal chick lit! I will probably have numerous references to designer shoes and handbags and after you've read me you'll wish you spent your time scrubbing the loo or cleaning out the compost bin.
Okay, so I supposed you want to know what brought this rant on. (By the way it's 4.30 am I have indigestion so I'm a little grumpy.) I was perusing the internet and I came across an author who was promoting her first novel. The cover of the book did not feature a pair of shoes. Excellent. So I read the author's bio which said amongst other things:
She has great collections of African sculpture and Italian heels.
I don't think I need to explain myself any further.
All I need now is to read that Samantha Brick is publishing a book about shoes and I will probably take a gun to my head.