Extract from Journal, 10 February 2009

I walked out at lunchtime, strolling through grit and water, around the unlovely town of Newtown St Boswells. I wondered why my right sock was wet until I removed my shoe for cleaning when I returned to the office. The sole was split from ear to ear. I fixed it later at home with a dollop of Chinese super-glue. The heels are so worn I could go over on my ankle any minute, and a piece of the yellow marigold glove I was wearing to superglue the sole detached itself, stuck on the upper and won't come off. The shoes are only fit for the skip, yet here I am, a man in a tolerably sound financial position, sticking the flapping sole with superglue to obtain another two months' wear out of them. I only paid £15 for them in the first place, because Messrs Clarks had rendered them obsolete about twelve years before they hit the retailer's shelves. Looking at them now, they look like something DH Lawrence's grandfather might have worn to his pigeon-loft in the late 1800s. It's time I adapted myself to the styles of the current younger generation, but old habits most certainly die hard.