Summer is officially here. I love this time of the year, it comes with so many wonderful things – sunshine (at least more often than during the other seasons), gardens in bloom, people slowing down a bit, relaxing and being friendlier… But most of the summer things I love strawberries – I could live on a diet of strawberries and cream all summer long. I buy so much of them that even my local supermarket took notice and my latest mailing included vouchers for my favourite summer fruit. If you haven’t come across them yet, try the Driscoll’s variety, they are really full of ‘proper strawberry’ flavour. And no, I have no vested interests in any strawberry plantations; my suggestion is based entirely on my personal preference.
Another good thing about summer is that it greatly reduces the need for socks. Socks, or socks laundry to be more specific, are one of my pet hates. My children’s socks always end up scrunched up and inside-out and trying to sort them out every weekend drives me mad. Why is it seemingly impossible to remove one’s socks without turning them inside-out? And why is it too difficult to remember to turn them out the right way round before they go in the wash? It does not matter how often I sit the children down for a ‘sock turning out’ session before loading the washing machine; they still can’t accept that it would have been much easier to take them off properly in the first place.
Those of you, dear readers, who may have children – do they insist on wearing mismatched socks? So that you never know whether you should be searching under a bed for the missing one of the pair, while all the odd socks may still be clean in the drawer, because your offspring has decided it is not worth pairing them up? I used to do that for my children and since I’ve decided they are old enough to do it themselves, they just don’t do it at all. They grab whichever two socks from the top of the drawer. Surely, you can see why I welcome going sock-free in the summer.
Sitting down in glorious sunshine last Sunday, watching my son’s cricket match, I suddenly realised that it should not matter at all. It’s their socks, not mine. They want to wear odd socks – so be it. I need to re-think my priorities; life is too short to worry about reuniting mismatched socks with their missing pairs…
I’m going to buy some more strawberries and watch Wimbledon instead. Bring it on, Andy Murray!