People ask me (because I’m an overflowing fountain of knowledge), “Shelley, what is the meaning of life?”

It’s a relatively easy question to answer.

I mean, it’s trying to secure as many pairs of shoes as your minimum wage earnings will allow, right? No?

Well, don’t give me all that rubbish about how the meaning of life is to be happy and show love to our fellow man – otherwise I’d be sitting here with Tom Hardy on my arm and sporting a rather large diamond, engagement ring while knocking him up a chicken dinner.

Unfortunately for me I did learn the meaning of life last week – to suffer.

Or, at least, ‘to suffer’ is the meaning of life when your name is Shelley.

I did adhere to the first part of my teachings.

I found myself with a measly 80 squid left in my bank account once all my bills had been paid.

So what did I do? Spoil the kids? Donate to charity?

No. I bought two pairs of the same shoes. This might sound bizarre, but these shoes are truly amazing and every woman knows it’s wise to have a ‘back-up’ pair lest some foul and evil fate befall the original pair.

So, the amazingly-mega-super shoes arrived, adorned with faux lotus flowers and tiny, glittery skulls and I was buzzing.

“These will totally blow everybody’s minds at the work’s Easter do,” I sighed.

They are open-toed which is usually a no-no for me.

I’ve been battling a fungal infection in my big toe for some time now but it was nothing a bit of Shellac couldn’t hide.

I’d like to take this time to offer my sincerest apologies and condolences to the lady at the nail salon.

I hope you make a full and swift recovery.

On the morning of said Easter do I awoke, went through my usual four-hour beauty routine and, all I can say is “wow!”

It was like Liz Taylor’s fatter, more plain looking, unsophisticated sister was staring back at me in the mirror… that’d do!

The taxi started papping away outside and I came to squeeze my trotters into the super shoes.

Eh?

I was having quite a bit of trouble but, never one to back down from a challenge I shoved that chubby foot into the shoe until my trotter went numb.

I tried to see what the problem was but the huge net petticoat was blocking my view.

Undeterred, I hobbled into the restaurant to greet my workmates with a very loud “ddaaaahhhhhllllings!”

Nobody gave my Liz look a standing ovation which I was mad about, instead everyone seemed to be staring at my feet.

“Shelley, have you brought your own Easter egg?” one laughed.

I was puzzled. There might as well have been an egg on my foot, I couldn’t feel anything though I was unsure why.

Soon a camera phone was produced and I was shown a photograph of the most mahoosive bunion the world had ever seen.

Not only had I bankrupted myself, I had a foot that resembled a bag of tennis balls and now I was too traumatised to eat an Easter egg again.

So you see, kids, when life seems to be going well, something will ruin it. Even if it is Easter. Prepare yourself for suffering.

Oh, and enjoy those eggs.