Good old-fashioned visit to the cobbler
My shoes are one of my favourite things. A specific pair. I do not have many and they all have different functions. But my main shoes, my two hundred days a year shoes, I love. They are a mid-ankle light walking shoe sort of situation I got six years ago. They have seen some shit both metaphorically and literally.
Six years ago they were retailing at £55. I got ten per cent off. They now cost an astonishing £120 and I don't like the new design as much. Maybe it's not so astonishing. My current pair ran me less than a tenner a year and new ones would be twenty a year if they lasted as long. Which is still great value, it's just a bit eyewatering. My sensibilities haven't risen along with inflation - I don't really see myself as someone who wears £100+ shoes on the daily. Other alternatives start at £50, more like £65, but they don't seem quite right.
So I went to the good old-fashioned cobbler down the road. I should have done this at least two years ago. But I didn't, and here we are. The backs were pretty broken. On one it had entirely detached from the sole. I wear industrial-strength insoles and sometimes they are the only thing between my socks and the pavement.
The cobbler looked at the shoes and said, "Is it worth it?" Well, that kind of depends on the price you give me. He said £35 and I slapped that cash down so fast. Yes. Yes that is worth it. It's not just the price, or sentimentality. If something can be repaired it should be repaired. Cobblers and such ought to be given opportunities to continue to ply their trade.
The shop is piled high - literal piles. Between me standing at the counter and the wall to the side was just a snowdrift of shoes and handbags, I assume for the spare leather. All the cool old anvils and hammers and tools behind the counter.
He said vaguely to come back in a week and my anxious ass didn't really know what that meant so I went back at the end of the next week for maximum allowance. This was too soon and I had to go back again another day. We stood outside talking while he finished his cigarette. He showed me a video the local estate agents had made of him working, and all his five-star Google reviews. My dude likes a chat and I am happy to listen to someone who is proud of their craft. I like this pace, I think it ought to be encouraged.
Now my shoes are returned, the backs rebuilt and glue liberally applied. They still look beat up and I love that about them. Naturally I wrote a five-star review.