Shoeshining

There is something about shining my shoes that speaks to me from my childhood. I was surrounded by a generation of men who had served in the forces and shining their shoes to a high polish was second nature to them. We were taught how to use "spit and polish" in primary school and the habit has stuck.

I love the smell of shoe polish and the moment of thought, rather than action as I work the polish in with the brush. Afterwards, I admire my shiny shoes; a job well done.

I will be wearing them tomorrow to bury one of the last of the older generation of my family. Apart from my father, he will be the one that I will really miss. There will be a long drive - a total of seven hours in the car - and I would have liked to have lingered for a day or two along a Southern coast that I don't really know but I still have many things to do here before the end of the month.

I am feeling drained after a few weeks of intensive work and unsettled home life. I should be able to relax a little more now but I am wistful and unsettled and have much to ponder as I brush my shoes.