Reclining after happy splashing in my new wellies!

My lovely sister and brother-in-law sent me a very generous birthday present of £50 towards some new wellies, my 13-year old Le Chameaus, held together with marine goop for the last two winters, having finally died a death.
The latter were bought in desperation from a very posh equestrian shop on Day One of a three-day natural horsemanship demo at which my daughter and I arrived in driving rain and four inches of mud. It didn't occur to me that 'covered arena' might also mean open-sided, and by late morning, I was feeling hypothermic.
I trotted off to the shop whilst my daughter watched the horses. I asked for the cheapest wellies they had and was presented with some neoprene-lined Le Chameaus at £85. I gulped, but was too embarrassed to turn them away. I tried them on, and sat there for about 15 minutes, with my feet gradually thawing, thinking: 'I can't, I can't,' before deciding,: 'If I don't, I'll die of pneumonia.' At £6.50 a year, they turned out to be a pretty good deal!
About two years ago, the extravagance of the impulse purchase was one of the last things an old friend teased me about, much to my irritation, shortly before he died, so I never had a chance to say to him: 'But, John, what an investment, hey?'
The new ones are Aigles - not neoprene lined but even more comfortable than the LeCs. If they last half as long I'll be very happy. This morning my feet stayed warm and dry! Hurrah and thankyou, thankyou, sis and bro-i-l!
I thought the Modigliani Cariatide, to which the 'present' was paperclipped, would be a very elegant model for the newly launched, mud-splattered wellies.