Just before my fifteenth birthday, I went to America with the Scouts.

We were supposed to go to Iran for the World Jamboree but they had a revolution instead and so we ended up in Fort Worth, Texas.  Like you do.

It was a world of hitherto unknown pleasures.  Baseball. Tacos. Rodeos. 

And there was one thing I wanted to take home.  Cowboy boots.

I’m still not certain exactly why I wanted them, but I did, so I went to Shepler’s Western Store, and bought some.

I loved those boots.

Trouble was no-one else did.  My siblings mocked them. My friends mocked them. And, in the end, I began to believe that the mockery was justified, so one afternoon when my friends were over, I was persuaded to take them down the garden, douse them with meths and set fire to them.

It was deeply hilarious and I was terribly sad.  And please don’t try it.

Thirty-six years passed, and I found myself, as I occasionally have, in Laramie Wyoming, where, in a second hand store called Nu2U, I lit upon another pair of cowboy boots.  The sole of the right foot was detached but they fitted and they were beautiful.  So, in honour of the boots I burned, I bought them and my friend Isa took me to the saddlery to get them fixed.

They were waiting for me next time I visited.

They might have been made for me, and I for them.

Our identities – not just what we wear but who we are – can take forever to settle into.

According to the Bible, Noah was 600 years old before he really got to grips with who he was and got busy with the Ark.

Now, I’m not suggesting any of us should wait that long to wear what we want to wear, do what we want to do or be who we want to be – but I would say don’t be discouraged if it takes time.

For me it only involved cowboy boots and it still took thirty-six years.

For some it might involve the reorientation of an entire life.

Sometimes it might be something we can only do alone.

But I reckon that sometimes, just having a friend to tell us that the boots look great might be exactly what we need.

The boots from Laramie really are beautiful and the saddlery did a wonderful job fixing them. The saddlery guy was a terrifying old cowboy in an electric wheelchair who glided around like a cross between Jack Palance in City Slickers and a very leathery Davros. Two years later, I bought another pair, also from Nu2U. I do love my boots. Thank you, Isa.

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