You know what they say about men with big feet.  Yes, 'Big Feet, Big Problem With Attitude Of Shoe Shop Staff (Well, Most Of 'Em)'.  For the hard of thinking, I'd better warn you this blog entry will probably have nothing to do with brewering, although the need for a beer will occur towards the end.

You see, I have a problem.  I am man, and if that isn't sin enough these days, I have big feet.  For the sake of the health of any female fans of this blog (assuming nurse hasn't put you to bed yet), I ought to point out that with the exception of my waistline, nothing else warrants a second thought.  Or indeed a first.

This 'big feet' thing means that seemingly the entire world of shoe makers view you as the sort of person who only wears felt brogues, and is generally as fashion conscious as a Tibetan Squirrel.  I'm might no longer be able to cope with Radio 1 for more than 10 minutes without wondering if there has been a technical breakdown somewhere, but that doesn't mean I share the same fashion values as my great-grandfather.  So this counts out the vast majority of the 'specialists' in large shoes.  And because no-one is prepared to pay £35.76 for a pint of beer (even ours), I can't therefore afford the other option of a pair made to measure - even if I they are elephant & walrus skin cowboy boots with a sole made from 23.6 iguanas.

A quick rummage of the more down to earth online shoe folk revealed that apart from some be-tasselled 80's throwbacks in black patent, I was limited to some trainers that would improve my stamina and running power (they must be joking, me, running power?).  Or some very pratical safety footwear with a toe section that was so high it would likely be snow covered most the year.  This may well look nice, but not very handy on a night out (I know - I've tried.).

So, with a deal of low-grade expectation, a trawl round shoe shops was thus begun.  I was out on the road going to Wisbech on other matters, so I started in Wisbech.  Complete blank, bar one pair of admittedly nice 'daisy roots', but with some loose stitching.  And at £145, I'd like to think someone had at least tried to hide the looseness with some Copydex.  One other shop, of the chain variety, and you'd think I was from another planet.  I swear, if I'd gone in as a Dalek I'd have had less 'looks'.  But all was no lost.  I found a nice little proper butchers (Franks) who sell a black pudding so large it'll make any real man swoon.  And our pet northerner here says it's as good as she'd seen in these parts.

Heading home, across the vast expanses of vegetable plots known as the Fens, you soon reach March.  So, always game to try anything, I turn into the town.  And amongst the throngs of East Europeans, who are seemingly far more willing to do a days graft than most, I found another chain store shoe shop.  Know I kid you not, if they had more than 8 distinct styles of mens shoes they were very well hidden.  It wasn't a small shop by any means, although not massive either.  I suspect not even Imelda Marco would have wanted to buy all the ladies styles on offer, but it seems that men in March still either wear home made clogs, or go bare foot.  "Can I help you", came the cry from behind the counter.  "No", I said,  "I was after mens shoes, but you don't seem to have any".  The look in response was priceless, and I suspect even now 3 days later, some young 'girl' in March is telling all her mates about some lunatic who came in, decided that their choice of mens shoe was poor, and walked out.  I bet no-one complained before, indeed I bet there is no demand for them either... 

Needless to say, nowhere else was any help, although a helpful young lady in Next did at least understand the predicament.  Although not so much as I might have wished 20 years ago.  So maybe I am getting close to wanting felt brogues?  Anyway, a thought occurred to me.  I can understand why I find it all so hard - after all most shoe shops are run by corporate monsters, whose sole role is to extract as much money as possible withot doing anything in return unless they have to.  This means that those of us at the extreme ends of 'normal' are no longer catered for - indeed one young spotty chap suggested I might never find shoes big enough.  The fact I have managed to do so, even fashionably at times, since my feet stopped expanding in my late teens seemed to be hard for hime to grasp...

And this has got me thinking.  If shoe shops were run by men, then they would cater better for men (in the same way that the dishwasher was no doubt invented by the fast - and possibly last - man to wash the dishes unaided.  And if fashion designers weren't all pretentious fools, then we down here on planet Earth wouldn't be left with whatever the sweat shop owners choose to make.  As a result, I am going to stop brewing, and start making fashionable boots for men with big feet - after all I've been talking cobblers for years...