Whatever Next? is a column that I have been writing for a local magazine called Round&About. This is a slightly modified version of one which appeared earlier this year.
Whatever Next?
Susan Darnbrough tackles the gritty realities of family life in the Thames Valley: days out with the children; time off from the children, staying at home with the children . . . shopping (preferably without the children) and happiness. This month, she focuses on feet.
If there has been one constant theme running through my thoughts so far this year, it has been feet: how we look after them and what we wear on them.
Sadly, all this flexing of my mental faculties with regard to socks has not translated into much of an exercise programme. Most of my aerobic activity takes the form of carrying a laundry basket (full of socks) up and down stairs: but more of that in a moment.
The root cause of my feet on the brain problem was the discovery of a verruca on Eldest Son’s foot. “Aaarggh!” I cried in terror. “Put a sock on immediately!” And then later: “Crikey! Does this mean he won’t be able to go swimming?”
It’s probably true to say that I overreacted a bit, but when I was a child, someone told me that verrucas were insects that burrowed into your foot. I know better than that now of course, but it still makes me shudder.
Following consultations with other mothers at school pick-up time – and a visit to the NHS website – I have established that these days, no one bothers much about verrucas. The recommended treatment is similar to the advice you get on the telly about dealing with your badly behaved children: if you don’t give them any attention they will eventually go away.
This means that I won’t have to buy any special verruca socks in order to go swimming.
I am profoundly relieved by this because there are already eighty five pairs of socks in this house. Yes, I have counted them and this doesn’t include odd ones. Sometimes I feel my life revolves around putting them in the washing machine, taking them out again, hanging them up to dry and then matching them into pairs.
We all buy socks with gay abandon, wear them and then wait for them to reappear, docilely matched and sweet smelling in our sock drawers. But it doesn’t happen by magic. Someone has to put them in the washing machine and then . . . Someone has to Hang up the Socks!
What particularly gets me is when I end up doing the job twice because they didn’t quite dry properly outside and I have to unpeg them from the washing line and then hang them up all over again on the clothes airer. There are better things to do with my life.
My frustration is particularly directed at all the dull-coloured socks in the world. Honestly, how many dismal shades of grey, blue and brown do we need? How many subtle variations of weave and ribbing can we stand? Forget forced fingernail extraction. This is torture!
It’s not just me who is bothered about socks. A US website tells me that by the time the average person is 40 years old, they will have owned approximately 1,200 pairs of socks. I really do not want to think about that. I think I shall have to go and put my feet up.
www.roundandabout.co.uk
Whatever Next?
Susan Darnbrough tackles the gritty realities of family life in the Thames Valley: days out with the children; time off from the children, staying at home with the children . . . shopping (preferably without the children) and happiness. This month, she focuses on feet.
If there has been one constant theme running through my thoughts so far this year, it has been feet: how we look after them and what we wear on them.
Sadly, all this flexing of my mental faculties with regard to socks has not translated into much of an exercise programme. Most of my aerobic activity takes the form of carrying a laundry basket (full of socks) up and down stairs: but more of that in a moment.
The root cause of my feet on the brain problem was the discovery of a verruca on Eldest Son’s foot. “Aaarggh!” I cried in terror. “Put a sock on immediately!” And then later: “Crikey! Does this mean he won’t be able to go swimming?”
It’s probably true to say that I overreacted a bit, but when I was a child, someone told me that verrucas were insects that burrowed into your foot. I know better than that now of course, but it still makes me shudder.
Following consultations with other mothers at school pick-up time – and a visit to the NHS website – I have established that these days, no one bothers much about verrucas. The recommended treatment is similar to the advice you get on the telly about dealing with your badly behaved children: if you don’t give them any attention they will eventually go away.
This means that I won’t have to buy any special verruca socks in order to go swimming.
I am profoundly relieved by this because there are already eighty five pairs of socks in this house. Yes, I have counted them and this doesn’t include odd ones. Sometimes I feel my life revolves around putting them in the washing machine, taking them out again, hanging them up to dry and then matching them into pairs.
We all buy socks with gay abandon, wear them and then wait for them to reappear, docilely matched and sweet smelling in our sock drawers. But it doesn’t happen by magic. Someone has to put them in the washing machine and then . . . Someone has to Hang up the Socks!
What particularly gets me is when I end up doing the job twice because they didn’t quite dry properly outside and I have to unpeg them from the washing line and then hang them up all over again on the clothes airer. There are better things to do with my life.
My frustration is particularly directed at all the dull-coloured socks in the world. Honestly, how many dismal shades of grey, blue and brown do we need? How many subtle variations of weave and ribbing can we stand? Forget forced fingernail extraction. This is torture!
It’s not just me who is bothered about socks. A US website tells me that by the time the average person is 40 years old, they will have owned approximately 1,200 pairs of socks. I really do not want to think about that. I think I shall have to go and put my feet up.
www.roundandabout.co.uk
posted by Susan Darnbrough at
12:14 pm
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