Have you ever spotted a single shoe in the most peculiar of places, wondered how it got there and then gone on to make up a whole murder mystery in your head? I do. In fact I do the same with stray socks, or ukuleles for that matter .
After a busy day in London, I boarded the train home to Leeds to take my husband for his belated Christmas present to see my comedy hero John Bishop (OK, so it was more a present for me and he was just an excellent excuse to go). The train left the platform and I texted my husband to let him know that the train had departed on time before settling down to work.
Shortly into the journey, the train started to make somewhat jerky movements and the train guard informed us that the train was broken and that we would limp into Finsbury Park Station and be collected by the next train coming up the line.
I did a quick mental calculation, and worked out that not all of us would fit on the next train, both already packed with rush hour commuters but I couldn’t afford to be delayed, we’d already lost 30 minutes. We pulled into Finsbury Park and literally hundreds of passengers spilled onto the platform. Standing at the edge of the platform I used all my powers of positive thinking to summon the doors to open in front of me. It worked! As if by a miracle, the train pulled in and the doors opened to welcome me aboard. I was one of the first people to enter the train, jubilant that I may even get a seat and as I looked back at the crowd of people pushing to get on behind me.
Then it happened. Somebody had caught the back of my shoe and as I looked down, my favourite, comfortable, faithful (and the one that gets all the compliments), leopard print ballet flat lay forlornly on the track. You know the types of shoes I mean, the ones that money can’t buy, the ones that you can wear all day and not live to regret it.
In that moment I had to make a snap decision, make a fuss and try and get my shoe retrieved or embark nonchalantly with just one shoe and not be yelled at by hundreds of desperate passengers. I chose the latter. Word soon got out that I was stood there with one shoe; it’s amazing how the other ladies and I bonded over my wardrobe dilemma. The excitement rose and I didn’t need much encouragement to start a twitter campaign, #savemyshoe.
First, I tweeted to the train company in question, they couldn’t help. Finsbury Park wasn’t one of their stations, “it was a matter” for @GNRailUK, but despite me telling them the exact location of my trusty shoe, they couldn’t help “we’re not allowed on the track”. “You don’t need to go on the track, you can just use a broom handle!” “Sorry, there’s regulations about that you’ll have to speak to @Railtrack!” For crying out loud! “@Railtrack can you help ….”
To cut a long story short, we were not reunited. So if you go to Finsbury Park, platform six and see the partner to this perfectly good shoe lying there, probably a little blackened and a little flat by now, mystery solved. There was no murder, it’s mine.
Carolyn Pearson is the founder of professional women’s business travel network maiden-voyage.com she’s done stand-up once and loved it. If she hadn’t launched maiden-voyage.com she would have loved to have been Sue White in 'Green Wing' and she’s hideously mischievous which is probably why she’s got a massive crush on FoneJacker. Follow her on twitter @maiden_voyage
Pictured below: The partner to the lost shoe
