The great Wiltshire sock cull 2018

For Charlie.

It’s important to have goals in life. It’s important to have perspective. Live on the edge a little. A frisson of danger, a pinch of excitement, verve… elan! It makes it all, well, worth it, yes?

So dear reader, to our Friday tale.

We open on a scene with your authour confronting the smalls drawer intent on packing a rucksack for a jaunt to India. His face is subtly twisted by the following realisation: he has excess formal socks.

I am aware that this doesn’t even qualify for a sneer of “first world problems.” It’s pond-life levels of decadence. This is not worthy of a hashtag. If it were a medal – in the “things to do with your time awards” – it wouldn’t even figure unless EVERYONE else had been disqualified on an obscure legal technicality. Even then it would only be awarded Cardboard at best. Awarded in a deep hole dug out to fashion an inverse of the podium. You’d just see the top of my lonely head as the proper official’s third cousin – who was in the venue only to sweep up – bestowed my award by lying down and reaching out into the abyss after I coughed a lot to make it awkward for him to ignore me.

You might say: ah, Ian’s self employed, it’s Friday and he’s not going to start anything meaningful at this hour. You’d be right.

I know what your thinking. Socks! So very many socks. How come?! In the racy lifestyle I’ve been leading these days, a week in Runcorn has been a regular feature. Imagine a four hour M6 slog Sunday night unpacking at your weekday digs only to discover: you’ve forgotten your socks.

I’ve stared down the barrel of that bleak puppy. Let me tell you it’s a dark place*.


It’s a wonder I’m not a more bitterer man than I am.

Anyhow, back to the scene…

We cut to an overhead shot of a jumbled mass of all black socks bursting forth.

[Pro-tip: only buy black ankle socks chaps and you’ll never have a mismatching crisis.]

Worse still, there are a pack and a half of fresh-uns peeking out.

Spur of the moment: “They’ll have to go.”

And with that all the previously enjoyed work socks are going to the clothing bank. BOOM! This is how he’s rolling on a September Friday.


24 socks

[FIN. Roll credits.]

Aside: now what with this being the 21st century and all, if you visit the M&S Outlet/ Primarni you can only buy fellas ankle height hosiery in packs of a level billion. What a time to be alive! (Let’s willfully ignore the obvious question: how on earth can they retail a sock-stack for £3 and make a margin? They pay factory workers in a hot country a living wage right? Right? Please don’t judge me. I needed socks, they sold them, I bought them.)

So I’m taking the new socks to India? Tsk. Awwww. Noooo. I’ve a bunch of shoe-liner-sports socks for that. I know, I k now. Who would’ve imagined life would be so crazy.

India footwear packing list v3.7:

  • Skate shoes (with liner socks)
  • Flip Flops.

We fly Monday. Hmmm. Does that give me time to tackle my tee shirt drawer?

Footnote: this entry needs a better title. Can anyone offer a sock based pun?

I’ll start “Socks is life” or “Nothing succeeds like sockcess”…

*Knowing you’ve no socks. Not Runcorn.

Categories: Our posts | 8 Comments

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8 thoughts on “The great Wiltshire sock cull 2018

  1. Hilda

    footloose and fancy free springs to mind. Have fun


  2. Claire Bates

    So happy to hear you got rid – lock, sock and barrel.


  3. Claire Bates

    So much inventory going. You’ll make a killing on the sock exchange.


  4. Claire Bates



  5. Claire Bates

    Reminds me of that classic 80s ditty, I Should Be So Socky by…..wait for it……now I’m gonna kill ya……Sock, Aitken and Waterman.


  6. Uncle Pete

    No comment from me, I’ll only put my foot in it.


  7. Ian Jordan

    sock it to them



    Sock it to them in India you two. Have a great time. XXXX J and C


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