Well, it seems that Spring has indeed sprung in W7.
Everywhere, buds are a budding, sap is a rising, squirrels are running amok in the trees, and I've even spotted the first pair of shorts in a pub.
Pretty soon it will be Chocolate Sunday* which heralds the start of the Barbecue season, followed by my once-a-year swap over of winter and summer clothes in my wardrobe.
My floaty skirts, short sleeved tops, and dresses will once more be dragged from the confines of the loft ready for an airing on the streets of London.
But sadly, for me anyway, this season of less laundry also brings a certain horror.
That of the 'Summer Shoes'.
During winter, I'm very happy to pootle around in boots, DM's or trainers, and on the rare days when I get to wear my snowboots, I'm over the moon with comfiness. This is because all my winter footwear has one thing in common, being that they all are flats. Flats are safe. Anything with a heel over two inches high = Danger!
Thin pointy heels bring me out in a cold sweat after 'the incident where the kitten heels got caught in the cracks in the pavement' and platforms bring on flashbacks of the time in the Hard Rock Cafe with the red wine.
Which is sad, as I love dainty, pretty, girly shoes. But I can't walk in them for toffee. I used to be able to, but then I used to be able to drink 8 pints of cider without falling over too. Some things get less easy as one gets older.
I've just tried wearing a pair of little, strappy high-heeled sandals to see if by some chance I'd regained the skill. Now my ankle is hurting. A couple of years ago, I tried a pair of authentic 70's platforms on, and fell over before taking just one step.
So it looks like I'm going to spend another summer wearing my faithful sneakers, and practical sandals, whilst my pretty, but ankle wrenching foot attire stays under cover of the cupboard, and I can only dream of strutting my stuff in a pair of cute, but deadly Manolo Blahniks...


*Easter.