Party Like It's 1983

           Even now, six months after moving home, the disposal of redundant or unwanted items continues. During a clear-out session last week, I was ambushed by evidence of my dandyish tendency in the form of a pair of bright red, leather dancing shoes. I had bought them in the 80s, perhaps influenced by Bowie’s smash-hit Let’s Dance, but certainly with a view to cutting a dash in my social circle at that time. Judging by the very lightly worn soles, however, their novelty appeal must have soon faded. I put them away for ‘special occasions’, but by the time these came around fashions had shifted, leaving red shoes stranded in an irrecoverable past. As the years went by, the party invitations became less frequent and more formal, while the shoes rested, un-scuffed – but not un-loved – at the bottom of various wardrobes. Finally, it seemed, the time had come to face up to the fact that their services would never again be required. So, reluctantly, I took them off to a charity shop, hopeful that they might be discovered by some discerning young beau with an eye for good quality vintage footwear. A week later, an invitation arrived for a fancy-dress party and my decision became a source of some regret.

          Elsewhere, I have made a few quid selling larger items on Gumtree, the on-line community exchange-and-mart platform, which I have found useful both personally and as a contribution to the eco-campaign against throw-away consumerism. Some, however, see it as just another opportunity to scam – as I discovered. It went like this: I advertised an item for sale and, within a few minutes, got an enthusiastic response via WhatsApp. (Warning: do not include your phone number in the ad.) Flushed with excitement, I followed the links they sent me to a series of Gumtree web pages, the last of which asked for my credit card details so that the supposed buyer could credit funds to my account. Here, the penny dropped: nobody pays money into your credit card account. Sure enough, they turned out to be cleverly faked web pages. I am left marvelling at the deviousness which human intelligence is capable of and astonished by the lengths to which criminals will go in order to avoid earning an honest crust. On reflection, however, I should not be surprised. Our own government displays just such deceptions in the service of enriching its cohorts, as this week’s crop of policy declarations demonstrates: the commitment to lifetime learning so that the workforce can re-skill is just another way of packaging up the sale of more household debt (“student loans”) rather than investing public funds in the education system; and the plan to introduce unnecessary ID cards for voting is sleight-of-hand gerrymandering that will effectively disenfranchise poorer, less educated sections of the electorate. The government, it seems, is enthusiastically aping the agenda of American Republicans. Still, they did a good job on vaccination roll-out, eh? Excuse the cynical scorn, but it’s been the kind of week that tests one’s faith in honest dealings.

          There is a silver lining, however. It occurred to me to call in at the charity shop where my shoes had been donated – just on the off-chance that I might buy them back. There they were, perched on a shelf, high up and almost out of view, as if they were an embarrassment to the ladies running the shop. I was a little put out that the price tag was only £7 but the ladies, amused by my story, soothed my ego by saying the shoes would have sold quickly had the size matched that of the many would-be buyers thus far.

          Anyway, I bought them back, hopeful that a third wave of Covid does not jinx the party. If it does, I shall write it into my will that red shoes should be part of my final ensemble.