The ongoing saga of my shit Clarks footwear continues apace. You’d think I might have just stopped buying Clarks shoes, but I can’t. I just fucking can’t.
Further to my note of the 4th of January 2010 in which I complained about the rubbish pair of Clarks Oxfords that had fallen apart on me (after very little wear, I hasten to add), I write to tell you of the fate of their replacements. Putting my faith (perhaps foolishly) in Clarks I bought another pair of Oxfords. After only four months the heel is already worn through, exposing an unsightly and impractical void within. They are rubbish shoes. They are rubbish Clarks shoes and I hate them and I am very cross with you, Clarks. Very cross.
That’ll learn them.
Dear My Child,
I brought a pair of Clarke’s shoes once, then I found they had no soul.
Very disapointed. Although they did do them in my size, 7 G.
*Bless you my child and all your family*
Do you remember being wheeled in to the local Clarks (or ‘Clanks’ as I insisted on calling them) outlets as a pissy, snot-nosed schoolboy because Clarks shops were the only places in the known Universe that did those tickly width-fitting measurements?
Well in those halcyon days when British Manufacturing Quality wasn’t a snide joke laced with bitterness and irony, Clarks shoes were manufactured, by hand, in the Clarks factory in Street, Somerset.
Street is still the Head Office of Clarks shoes, but if you visit the place you will now find one of Europe’s largest ‘Shopping Experiences’. Most of Clarks shoes are now made in the former Eastern Europe by machines on massive production lines.
I can’t explain why, given the change in manufacturing process, the price of Clarks shoes hasn’t plummeted to match the manufacturing quality, but it’s a point worth considering next time you contemplate buying inferior good manufactured in Kyrgistan or wherever.
Are you sure you’re not walking like a loon, dancing yourself dizzy or trying too many of your ‘Stances’ in these shoes. Clarks shoes seem to be made for the indolent, the foppishly light on their toes or automobiled.
I’m pretty sure there’s shops that do specialist spastic shoes. You’ll be wanting one of them
RAM IT, CHEDDAR BOY.
Shit bugger arsehole piss cock fart somebody’s stolen my horse and cart. Fortunately I’d left my Clark’s shoes on the cart.