These days, I don't think a phone call with my mother has ended without her asking me if there's anything I need or want. Some clothes, maybe?
She knows I don't need or want anything – where am I going to wear a new outfit for god's sake?
She does, however, love to shop, be it window-, comparison-, or the kind that actually involves the transaction of money.
Anyway, she bombarded me with this question before they left on their last trip overseas. My answer remained the same – I don't need anything, honestly. And then it dawned on me.
Since I was 15, when I started wearing Doc Martens as school shoes, I really, really wanted a pair of their original, 8-hole, ox-blood boots. A tad flashy, yes, but tough-looking enough to counterbalance any suggestion of poofiness. (Who the hell was I kidding?)
Authentic Doc Martens have always been prohibitively expensive here, though.
In London? Practically half the price.
And so my parents visited the Covent Garden store during their stay and they're now on my feet:
They actually arrived two weeks ago but it's taken that long for the weather to cool down enough to wear them. (Not a good look with shorts. On me, anyway.)
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