Bent it like Beckham - The foot was doing OK as it slipped down the wet, slick sugar-scoop transom, but when it reached the teak “traction” strips and stopped dead, something deep within me said “Uh-Oh!” (or words to that effect).  The foot might have stopped but the rest of me kept going and rolled right over it, putting some extra angle to the ankle.  I tried to put the best spin on it but the guests looked at me and said “Ouch, man, that's got to hurt.” It was useless to deny since the ankle was already swelling up like a mandrill's behind.  It was about then that the thought hit me, “Why is it again that shoes are so uncool?”

Look around at the charter boats in any marina. Most of them will have signs aboard saying “No shoes, please.”  Now, why is that?  The boat is likely made of some kind of plastic, so the shoe isn't going to scratch it.  If the sole of the shoe is a particularly horrible sort of rubber it might make some marks on the deck, but that's not likely if the foot is shod in, say, a boat shoe.  Writer and charter legend Jan de Groot reckons it's a way of controlling the guests by forcing them to be humbled by exposing their pasty, soft feet, and he might be right.

A recent visit to the chiropractor brought out the fascinating nugget of information that without the charter and yachting crews' visits, the bone-twister's trade might be a lot less remunerative.  “You people do bang yourselves up something terrible,” the good doctor said.  And we do, we do. Well, I do anyway.  There's barely a moment when something isn't hurting.  And it's not just me: only yesterday I farewelled a couple of charter crew who had come to paradise to try their luck but he slipped getting into a dinghy and wrecked his back.  So now it's back to Scotland and an icy winter.  If only he'd been wearing a pair of shoes, things might be different.

Now, some folks will swear by their Crocs and tell you how comfortable they are and how easy to wear. Slip them on, slip them off; no sweat.  Well, a little sweat, but the Crocs have some space-age pong-proofer built in.  No worries.  But talk to those who've been wearing them for a while and a slightly different take emerges.  In fact a man of my acquaintance is right now wearing a fairly solid cast on his arm as a result of his Crocs slipping on a bit of wet (and what part of the boat business isn't at least a little bit wet?) and going bounce by bounce down a set of steps until he came to rest on the dock.  Now he has to start his car with his left hand.

The no-shoe thing might have made sense when decks were teak and men were men, but that's how Messrs Sperry and Sebago and duBarry made their names, providing shoes especially for boat use.  How much easier it is to defend wearing some comfy kicks in these times when boats are made of impervious petroleum derivatives and there's barely a teak toothpick to be found.  As for me, someday soon I'll start wearing those shoes again but not just yet—my feet are hurting too much to fit into any.