“Hello!”

The voice came from somewhere near the floor.

Now at my age, hearing voices is not something one admits easily. If I told my family I had heard a voice from the ground they would immediately stop discussing my health insurance and start discussing my mental insurance.

So I ignored it.

“Hello!” the voice said again, a little louder and slightly irritated.

I looked down.

My walking shoes were staring at me.

Now these are not ordinary shoes. These were presented to me by my son in law in Chicago, which automatically makes them far more expensive than my walking habits deserve. They have air pockets, shock absorbers, special rubber soles and a computerised design that suggests I am a serious athlete rather than a man who mainly exercises his jaw at dinner tables.

“Why didn’t you walk today?” asked the left shoe sternly.

“Why should you be bothered?” I replied. “Look at you. No dust. No scratches. Your soles are perfectly preserved. You should be grateful. At this rate you will last for twenty years.”

The right shoe leaned forward and spoke in a deeply disappointed voice.

“When I am not used,” it said, “I die.”

This was rather dramatic for footwear but I listened.

“We were not created to sit in cupboards,” continued the shoe. “We were created to walk. To feel the road. To gather dust. To wear out honourably. A shoe that never walks is like a violin that is never played.”

I was impressed.

Also slightly insulted by the philosophy of my own footwear.

So I decided immediately that tomorrow morning I would start my walks again.

I was just leaving the room when the shoes shouted again.

“By the way,” said the left shoe, “we are exactly like the laws passed by your government.”

Now I was curious. “Explain,” I said.

“Simple,” replied the shoe. “A law, like a shoe, is meant to be used. If you make a law that riders and pillion riders must wear helmets but nobody enforces it, the law sits quietly in the cupboard, but saves nobody’s head.”

The right shoe nodded wisely.

“And when police look away because pillion riders happen to belong to useful vote banks, the law becomes decorative. Very neat. Very polished. Completely useless.”

I sat down again.

“Think further,” said the shoe. “Laws about hate speech. Laws protecting freedom of the press. Laws about lynching and honour killing. If they are not used, they slowly die in the cupboard of convenience.”

“And when laws die,” added the other shoe, “people and democracy die.”

The room became very quiet.  I looked at my walking shoes with new respect and decided, tomorrow morning I will go for my walk and ensure at least two things are used properly: My walking shoes, and through their wisdom, common sense…!

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