Last Christmas, I was given a pair of socks. Receiving such a gift is a sign of getting old, but also the fact I had holes in my old socks. The socks I received were really nice. They even had the days of the week on them, so I could keep myself organised.

However, there has been a recent disaster concerning my socks. One of them has gone missing. My lost sock was for ‘Thursday’. Between Wednesday and Friday, my life hasn’t been the same since, as I haven’t known what day of the week it is and have had to resort to wearing Simpsons socks, which are falling to pieces.

The good news is that the missing sock has been found. The bad news is that it is in the middle of the road, outside our house and is squashed – no doubt after being run-over my cars countless numbers of times. How the hell the sock ended up in the road is anyone’s guess. My sock drawer is relatively close to the bedroom bin and also the clothes basket, so in theory, it could have fallen in there. Even if that did happen, the bedroom bin, would have ended up in a black sack, for the bin men to take away on Thursday morning. How the sock got from the black sack and into the road is a mystery.

The sock is still in the road. I did suggest to Claire that we rescue it and give it a wash, so it can be worn again. Claire said that dogs had probably pissed on it. She has a point. Therefore, my sock remains in the road, outside our house, while I find myself dazed, confused and wearing an old ‘Moe Szyslak‘ sock every Thursday.