08/02/2017
Boots.
A very clever Christmas present a couple of Christmasses ago.
And y'know, I live in the North of England, so I can wear them 11 months out of 12.
And I do.
These boots have seen 2 Christmasses, 2 Springs, a Summer and an Autumn.
Then have run through the village in panic when my precious autistic son scaled impossible heights to climb out of a window and get to the swings.
Then have shopped in Newcastle, paddled at Blackhall Rocks, walked to and from school more times than I can remember.
They have followed sons to happy occasions, through fear, trepidation and elation.
They have accompanied me places I didn't think I'd go.
They have kept my feet warm as I bit my nails in a hospital waiting room, kept me upright as I watched general anaesthetic take hold of my baby.
They've walked me through my wedding rehearsal.
Today, they rested on the beach.
Before running full pelt to stop my youngest launch himself fully clothed into the foamy brine.
Boots.
If only they could speak...
