In bed at a reasonable time for once and happily snuggled into the back of my snoring husband, last night I drifted off at around midnight, pondering Caitlin Morans thoughts about shoes (‘If I am going to spunk £500 on a pair of designer shoes, it’s going to be a pair that I can a) dance to ‘Bad Romance’ in, and b) will allow me to run away from a murderer, should one suddenly decide to give chase’.) Continue reading →