Day 9: Shoe Smack

Those of you who have affection for my lungs will no doubt be pleased to hear that I'm well on my way towards actually getting myself into the gym. I bought some suitable trainers (Cheers to Adam Richardson for tips) and a cute little duffel bag to put my things in. I've even filled in the vast collection of health forms to ensure the gym I don't have epilepsy, asthma, a broken heart, or shit limbs.

Today however, I'm worried that part of the process may have opened Pandora's Box. Yesterday afternoon I spent half an hour casually looking at shoes online. Since then, i've bought three pairs of shoes. My colleague George doesn't think there's anything wrong with this, but he may not be the most impartial judge considering the fact that the amount of money he spends on shoes is comparable to the US military budget. As with any ridiculously invented pseudo addiction, it all started very quickly: at around 11:00am today I found out that Adidas were launching a range of Star Wars inspired shoes.


Turns out however, they weren't available to buy just yet. So naturally of course, I went online and bought two pairs of entirely unrelated trainers, for no apparent reason. Most worrying of all was the decision to buy a pair of converse with a design that almost exactly matches my somewhat distinctive red and black gloves. This would have been acceptable, if not for the fact that I already also own a COAT which is IDENTICAL to my gloves. I ran this by a bunch of people I know before clicking the big buy button of course, and everyone told me it was a terrible idea. But in a brash move of fashion defiance I decided to take the plunge regardless, embracing the mindset of the metaphorical man on a bike who's perched on the precipise of a steep slope; his friend recording video from below. It's a dangerous move to make, and I'll probably regret it immediately - but if I send the clip to Jeremy I might just win £250.

But obviously I've justified it to myself that I'll never wear all three at once, but even despite this it's still clearly overkill. I mean, what's the next step on the girlyometer after triple-accessorization? High heels? Glittery mascara? How long till the police kick the door in to find me with an orange in my mouth wearing suspenders?

Clearly Star Wars and Adam Richardson are to blame. I'll start drafting my letter to The Daily Mail later. In the meantime -for the love of god, stop me from buying any more shoes.