So after all that hard work of getting to York, scaling the B&B to set up camp, donning my fancy wears… we still had to get ourselves to the Racecourse itself. It was about 3 miles from the B&B. Now, do you think either Himself or I had even considered how we were going to get there?!!! At the time and when planning, in the back of my mind, I thought, “it’s okay, we’ll just get a cab, at the last minute, get there just in time….”. (Really? Can you believe I even thought that is what would happen!! In my dreams!)
So we called ALL the taxi companies in York (…I mean ALL…!) and it seemed that the whole of the UK had decided to descend on North Yorkshire for the Races and booked up ALL the taxies (The streets were literally heaving!), as they could only offer us one for 4 hours later, which wouldn’t exactly do. Now you might ask yourself “Why on earth was today so special?”. I’ll tell you why – because the GOD of all men and vocalists, the hero from the Welsh valleys, Sir Tom Jones… was gracing us with his presence that evening and treating us to his treacle-smooth dulcet tones. You might ALSO say, “Urgh? Tom Jones? Really?”.
Myself hailing from the Motherland that is Wales… and Himself a fan of that Motherland, (with possibly a teeny tiny man-crush on the Crooning Legend), couldn’t think of anything better!! And as it turned out, what felt like the entire population of the North of England felt the same.
We ended up walking into the street with absolutely no plan whatsoever… and we had to be there in 45 minutes. This is where a slight worry crossed my mind, this is part of the reason why – back to the shoes!!
…I’m not supposed to wear heels. They’re ‘bad’ for me. I was told 10 or so years ago that they would only exacerbate my condition. (In my consultant’s superior accent)… “Right then Alexandra, it’s up to you, you can carry on wearing those boots with THOSE heels, but you’ll continually pay for it. Your condition will worsen, more rapidly”. To be fair to the gent, he was right. Unfortunately
The shoes (are not only the most beautiful shoes imaginable), they had… yes, you guessed it, a heel that was sizably larger than the flat ‘man’ shoes I’m normally seen sporting (I’d like to point out at this stage that I don’t ACTUALLY wear guys shoes! But there’s a definite feeling of ‘frumpy dude’ when wearing a pretty dress with flats)… as you can see…
Now, to your footwear connoisseur, they might not look like a particularly large heel… but to someone who has become conditioned to wearing flats for the last 10 years, it felt like walking on stilts! So pacing the streets of York is not something that was appealing to me (without even considering the dysplasia!).
We fumbled from one place to the next; queue, bus, another queue, another bus, a walk. I’m now exhausted. My hips have the throb of a baseline-beat. But I continue to hold my head high – I didn’t want to look like one of those women who rarely wear a heel (even though I was!) and as a result, are striding into the place like a Farmer John! For once I was going to feel dignified and pretty without a mannish (…or John Wayne!) gait in sight!
To be continued…