Footie

I bought a pair of shoes from England the other day. Nothing special about that, apart from the fact that, at 72, they’re likely the last Crockett & Jones Connaught Black Cap Toe Dress Shoes I’ll ever purchase. I mentioned this to my pal Tom McEvoy because we’re the same age and he immediately knew what I was on about. With more yesterdays than tomorrows, you note such milestones - the last car, the last case of shampers and so on - not in a sad way, but simply as a factual matter. I like to say I’m not at life’s final destination, but I can see it from here. All this navel gazing brought me to an activity that comforts my head and heart - shining shoes, which I learned with precision as a teenager at l’Ecole Militaire, an institution that put much store in quotidian acts like shining brass, shining shoes, short haircuts, marching about and lathering my 1913 Lee-Enfield 303 rifle with linseed oil once a week. Today, I had to ask special permission from my valet, Finial, to buff my footwear which he granted graciously. Here’s what happened.