Croc Shock

Image via WikipediaRETURNING FROM holiday is always a mixed experience. Sometimes, it is a relief to be back in one's surroundings where the grim reality that is about 49 weeks of your year is momentarily new again. And on the other hand, one can miss the elements of a holiday that make it so enjoyable.

I returned from a week in Ireland and a dozen days in Ibiza glad to be back. I'd had a fine old time but was tiring of living out of a rucksack. One item that did not make the trip home was an army green, imitation pair of popular plastic shoes, Crocs.

The preferred footwear of surgeons and chefs, these rotten looking things never held much appeal for me - not unless someone would let me loose with a scalpel or knife and spare me the consequences. Indeed, I am not the only one who has no time for the shoes. However, after yomping across the stony beach and sea bed at Cala Salada, Ibiza, son in tow, I needed some protection if I was going to avoid coral, sea urchins, and tangles of weed.

Mrs CG nipped into a cheapo shop and bought a few pairs for a few yo-yos and off we trotted, or should I say bounced. Whatever cheap, polluting rubbish they make these things from, it certainly puts a spring in your step. No wonder hospital and restaurant workers favour them, being on their feet all day.

I was surprised they were so comfortable. Course, a few days later after numerous dunkings in salt water, they gave up the ghost. Maybe the real ones are more durable, I don't know, but I have had my secret experiment and them clogs were a pleasant surprise. But, like the fact, I am genuinely moved by Krusty singing "Send in the Clowns" and Sideshow Mel finishing the song off, I am not about to admit it to anyone.

Hence this blog.

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