SHOEHORNED

11 Sep

Back in mid-2008 I stumbled across a pair of old pre-loved, tan Julius Marlows (yes, that’s right) at the Camberwell Market. Eschewing any fads of the time, I parted with a pair of twenty dollar notes and returned home in my new ‘all-occasion’ footwear.

For the next two years I wore the Marlows consistently both at home, and abroad. Business? Pleasure? All-occasions indeed! Why, those shoes were so comfortable that when it came to choosing footwear for a long, solo trek down the Wakayama coastline, my trusty Chuck Taylors were cast aside.

Sadly, in March 2010, some 8000 kilometers afar from their Collingwood cordwainer (and somewhat in need of a good cobbling), they were surrendered into a garbage receptacle due to excess airline baggage constraints — a move I’ve regretted ever since.

When the rain receded this morning, I exploited the opportunity to venture into the sunshine and back to Camberwell Market in search of, well, anything really.

Same stall. Same shoes. This time: black.

Julius, you smug f***. The legend continues!

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