Back then, if you knew the right pub to swagger into, you’d get served. Back then, if you looked at someone just the wrong way you’d get beaten to a pulp, chased at the very least. Back then, although I thought about asking girls to dance, I rarely did. Back then, I wanted a pair of oxblood Docs and I’ve been wanting them ever since.
Now drinking, fighting, and girling have pretty much lost there attraction over the years, and I recently began to wonder just what was left. Then it struck me - those oxblood Docs that I’d allowed to elude me.
Just why I never got around to buying a pair or two escapes me now. It wasn’t the cost, although they don’t come cheap; maybe it was because I wanted my Docs to remain a dream.
Well, more than forty years on the dream has now been realised. I have my Docs but find that I have to persuade myself to wear them. Mad I know - but you see, although I’ve worn them out for an hour or two, I hold them in such awe that I’m scared of scuffing them.
I’m sure I’ll get over it. But for now they are for ‘best’.
‘For best’, what a quaint idea. Perhaps I really am living in a nostalgic film documentary on BBC2.