not THE red shoes. SOME red shoes

In return for us almost leaving the nappy bucket in their kitchen when we last visited Nicky's dad left us one of his pairs of shoes, though unfortunately not those with the inverted insoles. After a few calls insisting that he'd left them somewhere but them not being anywhere we thought he'd been in both the house and back at the flat they turned up tucked underneath the library table on the seat of a chair. I had intended to anonymously mail through the laces along with one of those notes written in torn-out newspaper-lettering but it would have meant that I would have been to blame if the laces and shoes could not be matched-up by the next time we visited them or they visited us.

Had I been at the flat finishing off some little jobs this evening I might conceivably have wandered past Inspace for the thing but after I popped to the shop to pick up some washers to help attach the cistern more firmly to the toilet-pan I trundled up to the flat door, pulled out my keys and stared at them for a good couple of seconds wondering where the relevant key was until I remembered that I'd given my set to Nicky when she popped past the office on her way to the cinema in the morning as she'd forgotten hers but was popping past later to make a list of the things which needed to be done. In any case, shortly after I got home Edgar got himself into one of those too-tired-to-eat-and-too-tired-to-sleep states which required a little time to mitigate.

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