More kick-ass boots than a branch of R. Soles. The audit of leather satchels led on to an assessment of our boot collection (again, this picture does not tell the whole story; I was wearing one pair of knee-high tan Spanish boots with Cuban heels whilst taking this shot). Cowboy boots of varied vintage and provenance acquired on my travels, from a snakeskin pair bought nearly-new from a saddle-maker in small-town Texas to a short black pair from a thrift store in Santa Monica, and the tall pair (top left) $10 from a charity shop in The Hamptons. Some bought here in Brighton, and in the middle are my old riding boots. So which ones should go? I’ve already sold a few pairs this summer. I think the brown ’50s pair top right are for the chop: they’re too wide in the foot and around the calf, and look a bit like wellies. A couple of these pairs, plus the brothel creepers and co-respondent shoes, are D’s and thus their existence is not to be questioned. And why do I need a cull? To create space for some more just in (picture of these to follow).