New Year, New Boots.

For anyone who reads this blog, my recently discovered love of fancy footwear will come as no revelation. Skipping past the sequin and glitter that accompanied the party season, I followed my nose to the thick smell of leather, and the taste-it-in-your-mouth rubber. Past Kate Moss for Topshop, and past the latest Whistles collection, to shoe department I would go.

There were many pairs that caught my eye over the festive period, but knowing and hoping that Santa may be good to me and also that sales were just a hop, skip, and jump away, I resisted temptation for the most part. Content still with my latest shoe purchase in New York (nude Swedish Hasbeens) I remained patient and thankfully it paid off.

I almost knew that Christmas day would produce nothing of the foot decorating variety, mainly because the only pair of boots I had banged on about quickly ate up the present budget set by Rory Clause. But safe in the knowledge that I would be wearing nothing new on my feet come Christmas morning, I was still slightly jaded by the absence of a towering heel or rubber welly.

My presents were all too much and very appreciated, but thanks to the saving of receipts and John Lewis' stellar returns policy, two sad presents were put back on their shelf leaving me with free reign of the shoe department. Well, I make it sound more civil than it really was, after arguing with Rory Clause about his inability to park in the city center, he stormed off from Morrison's car-park, taking in his wake the Whistles trousers he bought me, and the lovely waxed, Barbour laptop bag. The trousers were too summery. The bag, while manly, I would have grown to love.

Anyway, given the opportunity to finally add some real-life-grown-up heels to my closet, I settled on a pair of Carvela boots I had been spying for some time, and here they are in all their comfortable, stylish glory.