It’s confession time.

I can cook now but it’s no secret that when I was in my mid-twenties and on the road for work nearly every week, I used to eat out in order to free up my fridge, freezer and oven so I’d have extra storage for my extensive collection of shoes.

These days things have improved slightly. However, my flat, my parents’ house and Mario’s parents’ house are filled with dozens and dozens of pairs that I can’t bear to part with, even though most of them have seen better days.

There are the black knee-high boots I bought in Bologna way back in the autumn of 1997. For the first and only time in my life, I managed to unwittingly bag myself an investment piece to the point that I pull them out of the wardrobe every autumn.

Another favourite is the pair of red dragonfly shoes that I bought on a whim in Milan when my friend Emma was over to visit me ten years ago. Made from the softest Italian leather, they cost way more than I could afford but I was lured irresistibly towards them and their kitten heels.

And I’m glad I splashed out. Because every time I’ve slipped my wide, undainty feet into them, I’ve had the most magical of times. They’ve taken me across the cobblestone streets of Florence and a park in Glasgow. They’ve kick-started love affairs. They’ve also survived partying on the beach until sunrise and been trashed to the point of almost no-return.

They need re-heeling and some of the Swarovski crystals will have to be replaced should I wear them again. But one day I will. I’m waiting for the time that I can be a glamorous 90-year-old wearing wonky red lipstick and the fabulous kitten heels from my past.

And, yet, to look at me in the summer, you wouldn’t think I had all these beautiful, expensive shoes in my wardrobe because most days I schlep around in my clunky, ugly Birkenstocks or, more often than not, go barefoot.

In fact, I’m known to kick off my Converse at the first opportunity as friends, who regularly ring me up to tell me I’ve left my footwear strewn around their houses or in their gardens, can testify.

There’s something inherently liberating about not wearing shoes and I love feeling grains of sand between my toes or warm blades of glass under my feet.

I’ve even mastered the art of walking over gravel although I’m not so keen on shoeless walks on pavements where hazards include dodging shards of broken glass or someone’s spat-out chewing gum.

But since I’ve been wearing my barefoot trainers, that’s all changed.

When I ordered my Vivo Barefoots on Amazon, I was fully aware it was a distraction technique to get me walking. A bit like bribing small children to eat their dinner or to go to the dentist, these shoes were my reward for starting my training for next year’s walk across the South Downs.

I fully expected them to be nothing more than a gimmick to be put aside after a day or so. After all, humans have been wearing shoes, in the most basic form, for thousands of years so what was the point of being the Emperor in his new clothes in reverse and pretending I didn’t have a pair on when I did?

Then I pulled them on and went for a walk and that’s when I discovered they really are different.

Suddenly, I could feel twigs and leaves under my feet, along with the change in terrain when I moved from the pavement to a muddy path to the road. I could feel cracks in the pavement and tiny stones in the surface all of which made me that much more connected to my walk and where I was going.

After that first time of wearing a brand new pair of trainers without socks, I was expecting to be riddled with blisters and sore ankles with rubbed-away skin.

But, miraculously, after 30 minutes walking my feet were fine. In fact, they were better than fine because they hadn’t spent half an hour being squished up inside what now seems like an airless cage.

I’ve now been wearing them for a month and can really tell the difference. I’m walking faster and further – up to 14km in one stretch – and when I finally get home, I’m tired but that’s about it.

Crucially, despite two or three hours of walking a day, my feet also look healthier and they’re definitely stronger to the point that I’m really reluctant to pull on my hiking boots which always feel so heavy.

I’m not sure how long my Vivo Barefoot’s will last me but that doesn’t bother me because they’re so unappealing aesthetically, I’m in no danger of forming any kind of nostalgic attachment to them.

Besides, what does it matter?

I’ve got my red dragonfly kitten heels for that.

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