I Am Wearing Black Socks.

Why, I can hear my (non-existent) public asking, is this worthy of a Blog Post?
     Answer, t'isn't. Not really.

I love colour, is all. My trousers (or on the odd occasion, skirts) are uniformally and boringly black, but my tops are anything from pastel blue to neon red and my socks are the same. Pink, blue, green...stripes. I like colourful tops, colourful jewellery and stripey, colourful socks.

But today, thanks to being behind with the washing, the ones I have on are black. They have purple tipped toes, but still; predominantly, black.

...That's it.

It's a none story, isn't it? I know it is. I know it isn't the least important to anyone else.

But it is to me.

When I walk my way around work wearing my boring black trousers and boring sensible shoes and boring (and unflattering) navy blue polo-shirt (and no jewellery. Other than my pendant watch and dad's cross, which I don't take off, ever), I have the knowledge that underneath it all I am wearing a splash of bright colour, and that knowledge makes me feel better. It really does.
     It's silly, very silly, but that's the way t'is.

So now here I am. Colourless.

And to be honest, silly or not, pathetic or not, as a result I have felt fairly 'bleh', all day.

OK. That's it; all done. Whine over. Time to get ready for choir.

...in my black socks...

=SIGH=

Alice x