Of course, it’s snowing. Of course, I am about to leave for New York where the perfect storm is awaiting me. Before it’s too late I’d better go into town and buy boots, waterproofs and thermals to avoid completely freezing.
It’s eight thirty, the sky is milky and snow flakes the size of golf balls are falling. Help! I take the subway, which is better than taking my chances over ground. I re-emerge near the cathedral, Milan, and I go towards the nearest shoe store, to buy padded boots. I look in the first window: sandals. Sandals?
No, excuse me, it’s snowing, can’t we put things in the shops that are, well, if not exactly sensible, at least vaguely linked with planet earth? The only people who respond to my needs are the street sellers who, if it rains, get the umbrellas out (and sell them), if it’s packed with people, bring out the most ridiculous objects (and sell them too) and in the middle of the next snow storm I bet they’ll have a sign ready saying: “grit, shovels, boots” (I hope).
Is it us, who write “summer’s here” in November, that provoke the temperature change in the shop windows? Is it my fault that sandals are on sale in every window? Nice sandals though, I admit. Slim heel with cream straps. And wedges with a leather band. Forget it. I’m looking for snowboots.