Shoes, glorious shoes

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I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how much money I spend on shoes. I often joke about price per wear and how, it’s ok to buy more; they’re an investment. But in all seriousness, I sometimes think, I could have bloody well made this myself…

This got me thinking – why do I give all my hard earned money to shoe designers, when I could in fact, make my own? I mean, most of the best (in my opinion) designers are men; Manolo Blahnik, Jimmy Choo, Marc Jacobs, Christian Louboutin… and where do these men get off in being able to say what shoes a woman should wear? I should be able to decide what heel height I want on my shoes, what shade of blue it should be and not give in to the world of fashion to tell me what’s hot this season and what’s not.

I am a woman, I have my own ideas and damn right, I am going to make my own shoes.

Marilyn Monroe once said ‘give a girl the right shoes and she can conquer the world.’ Well, I have made a decision, I am going to enroll on a shoe designing course, make myself some shoes and conquer the world, one shoe at a time.

Watch out, ‘Maud’ by Danielle will be hitting the shelves in no time!!


The one with the missing passport

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I wrote this blog post a little while ago , but for some reason, it never actually posted. I thought I might as well post it now, but it did actually happen in December, but better late than never eh!!

Sometime in December I wrote…

So, I haven’t blogged in a little while, partly because my laptop broke and partly because I just couldn’t get the words to come out right! But seems as I did commit to myself that I would maintain this blog, I have decided to plough on through and see what I can produce!

To be totally honest (read: I’m going to make another excuse so I don’t feel so bad about my abysmal upkeep) there was one other reason I haven’t been blogging lately – I have literally spent all my time at home frantically searching for my passport!! Somehow, despite carrying all the way up and down one hell of a big mountain without even the slightest fear that it was lost – keeping it in a safe place in my house was a task that proved most difficult for me.

Now, I don’t need it until January, but because I’m going to NEW YORK CITY BABY!! (yay!!) I need to be able to apply for a visa, which takes a little time and is also something that you can’t do without a passport number. So I kind of needed it now! I had a little Google and if I needed a new one, then it could take up to 3 weeks to get an appointment, and because it was lost I couldn’t get the same day service, I had to go to an appointment in Liverpool and then wait a week for them to send it back to me. Drama, drama…

What this basically meant was that had very little time to find my passport.

Now I’d had it in my bag, like literally 2 weeks earlier, so it couldn’t be far. I turned the house upside down, I looked in every cupboard, the fridge, all my handbags (and believe me I have a few!!) but could I find the bloody thing…NO; I couldn’t.

Anyways, round 4 of find the passport was my final attempt at retrieving it; my appointment in Liverpool was booked for this Saturday so time was running out. The only place it could actually be was in my beloved husband’s office. Now, I use the term ‘office’ rather loosely. It is more like a paperwork filled pig sty. This was going to need cake and diet coke. In fact, let’s be realistic, it was actually going take cake and full fat coke. It was that kinda night.

I started searching through all the papers (again) ‘coz you know, it must have just got stuck in between them in the last 2 weeks, so it couldn’t be buried too deep. (If only it was that simple) With no such look, I decided there was only one way to do this; take everything out, and as I put it back in, open a full on search party, manic Maud style.*

This routine was going well, I was making good pace and the full fat coke was flowing nicely. Intrigued as to why Steve had a Clark’s bag in his office, I opened it to have a rummage through. Yep, you guessed it… there in all its glory was my bloody passport.

Further rummaging proved to also be successful in finding my missing Kilimanjaro t-shirt and certificate. What puzzled me the most though was how the hell was my passport in this bag, when I hadn’t seen the bag or its contents since the day id got back from Africa, in July?!

Turns out, it wasn’t my passport I’d been walking around with after all. It was Steve’s.  No wonder I couldn’t find it.

The only saving grace was that now I have found my passport, I dont have to buy a new birth certificate to replace the lost birth certificate that I needed to get a new passport… Can you call that #winning?

*Steve calls me Maud for some weird reason and I was pretty manic – and it rhymes, so lets go with it…