Shoe SHARE for UNICEF - as featured in the Leinster Leader August 2015

The Ruby Slippers, worn by Judy Garland in the Wizard of Oz, are the most expensive pair of shoes ever sold, making $660,000 at an auction in 2000. My mother in law, who has a thing for footwear, once owned a pair of purple velvet Versace evening shoes with Louis heels, encrusted with real gems. My daughters have Granny’s passion too and the higher the better, like scaffolding rigs. I generally prefer more sensible footwear. Or so I thought.  

It was a pair of gold leather loafers with silver tassels that caught my eye in Clarks last week. They stood out from the rest, the light bouncing off them like a pair of shimmering golden galleons, calling “Buy me! Buy ME!” They were a size 5, that’s my size. It was a sign and if ever a pair had my name written all over the sole, it was these. 

I had gone into Whitewater, the local shopping centre, to take shelter from the rain when the glistening loafers distracted me. Never mind that I would get stick from the kids, or that I’d need a new wardrobe from God knows where to go with them, they had to be mine. The gold and silver spectaculars were marked down from €100 to €25. Bargain. My pulse was racing.

I do not have a fetish for shoes as such. What I do have is about five pairs that I wear most days and another five (or so) pairs of ridiculously glamorous heels that rarely leave the house. Included in the latter collection is a pair of dangerously high Jimmy Choos that my mother in law sent me for a significant birthday fifteen years ago.

The six-inch heels, that I have only worn once, come out when my teenagers are bored. I found my fifteen year old cleaning her bedroom in them recently. I didn’t moan, just quietly left her to it wishing that I had thought of the idea. But like many women, I do appreciate a good pair of shoes; show me a woman on the planet that doesn’t. It’s a girl thing.

A poll of 1300 women revealed that in her lifetime, the average woman owns a mind boggling 434 pairs. I have a friend who might be at that figure already.  Mrs X in Naas hides shoes all round the house.  Her husband has no idea of the boxes hidden in the hot press, under the bed and in the attic. Mr X has no clue that his wife has a shoe addiction. “I don’t need help,” she tells me. Some people collect stamps, others collect shoes. It’s the same part of the brain at work.

Back in Whitewater, the shop assistant took my card and stuck it into the machine. I stood in front of her with a goofy smile on my face. That happens when I buy shoes. It’s the same face that a child pulls when he or she gets a big ice cream. I was smiling because I knew that each time I wear the shiny golden loafers I will get a huge buzz. It’s exactly that feeling that Mrs X in Naas thrives upon. 

“Would you like leather protector?” the assistant asked. “Yes please”, I replied. I shall wear the metallic loafers til I am ninety and they’ll need all the protection that I can get. She put them in a bag and handed me a small blue leaflet along with my receipt. “If you are having a sort out and have any spare shoes…” Spare? Each child has a pair of summer sandals that they’ve hardly worn, and old school shoes too. I’ve at least eight pairs good to go. I read the leaflet and little bells went off in my head. That happens when I discover something brilliant.

‘ShoeSHARE’ has been around since 2008. Clarks stores in the UK and Ireland use their shops as collection points and members of the public are invited to drop in unwanted shoes. The style and size or the shoes is unimportant, likewise, the condition. The oldest pair of runners can be sent in along with old wellington boots and slippers.

There is immense satisfaction to be found in donating shoes. For every tonne of shoes, Clarks make a financial contribution to the United Nations Children's Fund. Clarks recycle the shoes and UNICEF  educates children in some of the most troubled countries on the planet. Over a million Euros has been raised to date.  In the world today, there are in the region of 57 million primary school aged children deprived of an education.

For many children in poverty or war torn countries, they are getting an education thanks to ShoeSHARE. Through the scheme, UNICEF provides basics like pens and pencils giving children the right tools to learn. They also train teachers and work with governments to ensure the standard of education remains high and children are leaving school able to read and write.

 Simply put, the more shoes Clarks collect, the more they donate. The more they donate, the more children in countries like Zambia, Ethiopia and the Philippines benefit. ‘Shoe Share’ is a great idea and like the best ideas in the world, is so simple. All it takes is a few moments of our time and a little de-cluttering. 

So here is the plan, it’s like the ice bucket challenge but with footwear. Let’s make Kildare the county that bombards Clarks with shoes over the next few weeks. If I ask all my neighbours to donate just one pair, and ask everyone on Facebook to do the same, I could get in a hundred pairs of shoes with very little effort.

If everyone who donates a pair passes on the ShoeSHARE request to their neighbours and friends too, a lorry load of shoes could be heading to Clarks. Are you up for the challenge? I’m starting my campaign this week so Mrs X in Naas, you had better get ready.

I’m putting on my new shoes and heading to your house first. You will definitely see me coming.

What every woman wants on her birthday...

What do Will Smith, Marilyn Manson, Jay-Z, Helena Christiansen and I have in common? We are all 46. I turned last week and it’s hard to know how to celebrate 46 years. If I lit that many candles on a birthday cake all at once I’d set my chin hair alight.

“What do you want for your birthday?” my husband asked. I never know what to say. I’m not a handbag girl, rarely wear make up and am at that stage where I am lucky enough to have everything I need. I suggested a surprise and he went quiet because, let’s face it, a surprise can be anything. A pound of Jane Russell’s sausages could be a surprise, so could a whoopee cushion or a goat.

My birthday arrived and the kids handed me gifts. I was handed three bars of smelly soap, some hand cream, deodorant and bubble bath. I put them away in the bathroom. For for the next month or two, I will get immense pleasure from their gifts and reek of roses as I push the trolley round Aldi.

My husband went off to work early and left his present, the ‘surprise’ with our son to guard. “You mustn’t open it til Dad gets home” he told me. I sat looking at it all morning. The ‘surprise’ was such an odd shape. About the size of a tray but bigger one end than the other, was it a tray? That would be a ridiculous surprise; I’ve got two that I don’t use already. The only person I know who has three trays is Frances Brennan. That afternoon as I tried to watch Wimbledon, my eyes kept going back to the mystery in the corner.

I picked it up. It wasn’t heavy but it wasn’t light either. I was about to shake it when the youngest came in again and caught me, “PUT THAT DOWN”. I put it down. “What is it?” “Not telling you,” he replied, sitting down beside me to watch the tennis. “Give me a clue” “NO!” I headed into the kitchen to find my teenager peeling baby new potatoes with a bread knife.

She kindly offered to make the dinner, which was much appreciated by this birthday girl. I’ve made somewhere in the region of 20,000 family meals in last eighteen years, not bad for someone who failed home economics. I was ordered to go back to the tennis and leave her to it. That left me in the front room with Wimbledon, the surprise and my son.

“Go on, give me a clue,” I whispered. He got up and peered into the kitchen, and then tip toed back again. “OK. Ask me some questions”.  “Can you eat it?” “No”. “Can you wear it?” “Err, no”. “Have any of my friends got one?” “NO!” The last answer bothered me. It was a firm no. That meant that what ever it was 100% not a handbag. “Would you like one of what ever it is?” “Err, I might”. “Is it anything to do with Lego?” “No”. Phew. There was a chance that he might have got me something totally mad like a Titanic Lego kit.

It was soon four in the afternoon, well into my birthday. The surprise was right in front of me and I was not allowed to open it. The tennis was not enough of a distraction. My son got up, tiptoed into the kitchen and came back to the sofa with the phone. “Shall I phone Dad and ask him if you can open it?” I nodded and put my thumbs up. If the girls got wind of what was about to happen, they would put a stop to it immediately.

“Dad. Mum’s really sad because she wants to open the surprise. Can I let her open it or does she really have to wait til you come home?” Silence for a moment, Then the magic; he put his little thumb up. “Thanks. Bye”. With that I ran over to the surprise and without holding back, ripped it open like a three year old on Christmas morning.

Inside, I discovered a black fabric case, the sort of case that you would put a laptop in. But this was no laptop, it was bigger and it’s shape too irregular. “What is it?” I looked at my son. He smiled and shrugged his shoulders. I carefully undid the zip that went all around case and discovered loads of plastic. Still totally flummoxed, I took the wrapping off and there it was, revealed in all its glory. The surprise.

I am not sure what Jay-Z got for his birthday. I am guessing Beyonce got him something like a gold knuckle-duster. Helena Christiansen might have received an elegant piece of jewelry, earrings or a bracelet. As for Marilyn Manson, eye liner. But I genuinely believe that Will Smith would have liked my surprise. He’s a musical man. I just wish that I were more of a musical woman and my 46^th year is destined to be musical because my husband gave me a glockenspiel.

Back in the eighties, I used to watch legendary stargazer Patrick Moore play his glockenspiel. It was a large wooden instrument and he played daintily with super speed. It always amazed me. Some time, in the past eighteen years of marriage, I must have mentioned that to my husband. Fast forward to last week and he thought that it would be the perfect surprise.  It was, without doubt, the last thing on earth that I expected.  I was genuinely, 100% surprised.

With my son watching, I picked up the beaters and played the only tune I know how to play on any musical instrument. I banged out a plinky-plonky ‘Happy Birthday’ to myself on the metal keys.

If you know anything about the glockenspiel, please contact me. I need to add to my repertoire. I’m giving myself five months to learn ‘Frosty The Snowman’.