189 days to go

People like to shop. They do. And good job - the recovery of our whole economy is based on it. The collapse of our economy was similarly based on it.

And yes, I don’t want to conform too much to type but there are some shopping experiences out there that bring a flutter to a girl’s heart: (some) shoes, anything with the Apple logo and a Flat White from the delightful young man at Jamie’s Recipease spring to mind.

However, there are some items which turn the most hardened shopper into a Scrooge McVoucher-clipper. These are the Unnecessaries. The National Insurance of the high street world. Sandwiches after you left your carefully-crafted lunch in the fridge. Laptops when you’ve kicked the screen in because you left it on the floor. And of course socks. There is no joy to be had in socks.

So, as we’re involved in something of an extreme sport, it should have come as no great shock to learn that sock buying would be similarly extreme. No pack of three for a fiver down the Gap for us. Think closer to what you used to pay for a CD before the EU got all heavy on everyone’s ass. Or, as I said to the sock vendor: “You’re billy-o-ing billy-o-ing me”.

He wasn’t, of course. And neither was Wendy’s sock vendor (see above). And neither were the playful gods, for we have been advised to buy very thin liner socks to go with those socks to stop them rubbing.

You don’t get this kind of nonsense at M&S.


What we have learned:
Far more than we expected about socks

Boot update:
No socks please, we’re British