New York, New York (Part 2, geddit?)

Don't come running to me, whining about the endless New York saga. You were the one who hit the button, lured no doubt by my snazzy headline and the promise of yet more sarcasm and cynicism.  And you won't be disappointed, chums. I'm afraid I took far too many pictures there for you to be able to get away with a single blogpost about it. Sorry about that but I am here to share yet more of our hot, steamy sojourn with you.

So where was I?  Oh yes, something about weird shop windows - LV took the Digestive, frankly.  And then I had to lie down and recover for a long time after the horror of the M & M store.  I forgot to mention that the place reeked.  There is something very, very wrong with American chocolate (that should generate some outrage across the pond) but to the European, used to the finery that is Swiss/Belgian chocolate, not to mention good old Cadbury's, it's just over-sweet, has a vomitorious after-taste and is, frankly, vile.  And the M & M store stank of it.  But let us move on.

Last time I covered shopping - something that my daughter is proving to be exceptionally good at - and I saved this little gem as it is too good horrific to be buried in with other stuff.

My girl has long had a fascination for shoes designed by some geezer called Jeffrey Campbell.  Do, by all means follow my thoughtfully-provided link but do also make sure you have a bucket handy at the time.  Unless of course self-aggrandising twaddle like:

 "Inspiration and design ideas come from everywhere. The “JC design team” isn’t a group of 6th Avenue, corner office executives… it’s you. It’s the JC Girl bloggers. It’s the interns, the assistants, boyfriends, girlfriends and boutique owners around the world, all trading ideas with the JC Team.…Because you are Jeffrey Campbell."

... somehow doesn't make you want to lose your lunch.  

But let me take a deep breath.  Apparently, JC's shoes are difficult to source in England and, to get the pair you really want, you tend to have to order direct from the States which costs extra in postage, import tax etc.  So it stood to reason that she would try and get her mitts on a pair while were were over there.  Unfortunately, I was with her when she happened upon a pair of these, erm, boots.  The ensuing squealing and swooning was more than a soul could bear - that and the fact that the Shah and the son were also with us and were already mighty bored and intolerant of girly shops, so I felt pressurised from all sides.

Anyway, the upshot was that, in a weak moment, I agreed to pay for these monstrosities enviable designer duds, on the basis that she would reimburse me, I hasten to add.

Drum Roll please - I give you ...

JEFFREY CAMPBELL LITAS...

Jeffrey Campbell Litas

As I said to her, she could probably have got them for free on the NHS because they supply footwear for clubbed feet, don't they?  Then she could just have stuck some stars or something all over them.

Jeffrey Campbell Lite

Yes, I know what you are all thinking.

WTF?

Yup, me too.  Inexplicable.  But at least she's paid me back.  Until she did, I put them on from time to time and trotted about wearing "my" JCLs.  Cue outraged squawking, which entertained me no end.  Actually, they are surprisingly easy to walk in - even for a legendary klutz like me.

She has paid me back in another way as well.  Like this:-

Oh yes, she has had her tongue pierced.  WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS CHILD?  To be fair, she 'asked my permission' which is a euphemism for telling me what she was about to do.  Her friends are agog with envy as most of their mothers won't let them do it until they are 18.  What's the point?  What difference does it make whether she does it now or in a few months' time?  She's been banging on about it for ages so the ignore-it-and-see-if-she-loses-interest tack clearly didn't work.

I have huffily refused to have anything to do with it and have taken great pleasure in playing the role that my mother and countless others have played since time immemorial.  "Don't come running to me...."