Shoe Pervert died and went to heaven.

Last night I went round a mates for a fish supper (He cooked me fish and chips, no rude thoughts now people). As he slaved away in the kitchen, making chips from scratch and battering the fish I nestled next to his very lovely girl housemate Charlie with a big glass of wine and we started to natter about my favourite subject (No prizes for guessing what that is).

It seems Charlie has a similar shoe obsession. In fact, she took me upstairs to show my her splendid collection, which included a fabulous pair of glittery heeled Kurt Geigers her boyfriend bought for her as a present (I hope she marries that guy) and a beautiful pair of Jimmy Choo style silver sandals with a snake running down the foot. Swooooooon!
Then she pulled out these INCREDIBLE platforms. Five inch heel, soft teal suede, patent piping, round toes and laces. 'They were from Faith on sale' she tells me, 'only cost me forty quid, down from eighty.'

Good girl, what a bargain.

But then she tells me a horror story of the pain they caused her feet. Apparently the poor soul is a half size, with narrow feet and finds it very difficult to find shoes that will fit.

'You're a five aren't you?' she says, 'fancy wearing them this evening? Stretching them out for me?'

Well I ain't saying no to that.

As soon as I slip them on the altitude feels bloody amazing. And I can't stop staring at them, the arch of the soul, the beauty of that skinny but outrageously high heel.

When it comes to the end of the night, I go to take them off and give them back to her.

'Why don't you keep them?' she says, ' you can't have stretched them out enough yet, wear them out. You're doing me a favour.'

I stare at her, open mouthed. She is just lending me these shoes?! This is to good to be true. I would NEVER lend my shoes to anyone. Once, I lent an old pair to my sister for a night out and stared at her feet like a hawk all night, getting irritated every time she walked anywhere, even the five meters from her seat to the bar.

I protest to Charlie, tell her I will ruin them, tell her she won't get them back.

She smiles at me, tells me not to worry. 'Shoes need love' she says, extremely wisely, 'I can't wear them at the moment so someone should enjoy them, and hopefully, you will stretch them enough for me to enjoy them in the future.'

Then I realise, Charlie is a female rugby player and far tougher than my scrawny self. If I do anything to hurt her shoes, she may kill me... or at least beat me until I pay her back. And thus, I know she can trust me with them. That and I always give fabulous shoes the TLC they deserve.

So very happily I skip away with these beautiful shoes, assuring her I will look after them and that if anything does go wrong I will pay her back. (I will, I like my limbs intact)

I just can't get past it though, I get to put them on my shoe shelf, wear them out, stroke them and I am doing her a favour?!

Maybe I should set up a shoe stretching business. Due to my asbestos feet, I can wear in girls painfully high new heels and they pay me to do it! This could be rather lucrative. I might even get people asking me to wear in designer ones!

I'm off to have a daydream about that now.