Safe sox
There is nothing sadder than a solitary sock on wash day; apart from perhaps a Christmas tree blowing down the street on Valentine’s Day, but that’s a whole different story. Whilst all the others have been hanging out and met their match, there will always be one lonely sock that sits there on the bedspread staring back up at you; desperate for its sole mate. You do what you can but at the end of the day the solitary sock will inevitably be banished to the back of the drawer, a lost cause. It was whilst contemplating the many lost souls at the back of my overly burgeoning chest of drawers that I cast my mind back and remembered my mother’s very simple laundry rule. Father had black socks, my sister has white socks, I had grey sock and my mother had stockings. I felt horrible doing it but I bundled all every single, and coupled, sock into the car and took them all to the textile recycling bin. Then I popped into Selfridges and bought myself five pairs of black, five pairs of blue and f
