People laugh at the statistic that more Americans are killed by their trousers each year than by lightening. Indeed, here in the UK, I believe you are more likely to be killed by the same garment than you are to win the lottery (jackpot). I believe we laugh at the idiocy: quite how can someone be killed by their trousers? A good question, and one to which I have no answer.

Socks on the other hand is, to my mind, a different matter! These two simple tubular pieces of cotton, nylon if you are a chav and silk if you are too posh to put your feet through anything as barbaric as the former two, are the daily challenge of my daily life. Firstly: socks provide infinite frustration for me during a period of time where I have little tolerance (the morning)! This frustration resides at the partnering stage: a sad part of moving out of my family home is that I no longer have my socks paired for me; there is no chance of me doing this when packing away clean washing, since I have a long-standing process that I would hate to break: of throwing underwear in the top drawer and dealing with it later. So mismatch of socks is an issue. But I am sorry to report that sock partnering is not as simple as identifying the same colour. Colour is a secondary concern, my primary one is texture… I must wear socks that have the same softness, I would rather partner a stripy prink sock with a black one of equivocal softness than I would two blue ones where one is new and soft and the other crispy and brittle.

You would think that as long as I am consistent from the start there would be no issue: that would be a woeful inaccuracy! We all know that there are sock thieves who employ small pixies to rob one sock in every four or so pairs. The loss of one sock out of a new set of five similar pairs causes a chain reaction: that one sock must take a partner now from this same batch of or we would be matching brittle with soft, and so the colour theme becomes a thing of the past.

I have not even got onto girlfriend borrowing activities when it comes to my socks, and perhaps I should not get started on this in any case! Suffice to say that girlfriends believe it to be part of their relationship right to use their boyfriend’s socks as ‘oversocks’ for inside the house or wellington boot oversocks! ‘Oversocks!?!?’ I hear you cry… That is right: this beautify new pair of soft socks are being tarnished by direct exposure to the ground! Once done they are never the same again and must go into the graveyard that is the running-sock drawer.

As a Segway, running socks is another thing. I discovered a few years ago that rather than spending over ten pounds on one pair of 1000mile socks, I could wear two business socks on one foot (both feet)! Thus providing a solution to what to do with your old business socks when they are no longer worthy of your brogues! However, can you imagine the complicated texture matching that goes on in the graveyard sock drawer – especially when two pairs are needed for every run!

I am keen to stress however, that I have been simply rambling and discussing the less pressing of the daily sock issues. The one I have thus-far been sharing can be seen as the daily emotional trauma that socks create. The other is peril. None of my peers share this difficulty, which leads me to believe that I simply missed the day at school where the simple and easy trick for putting-on socks took place. Perhaps I was hurt from falling when trying to put my socks on for school!? I find it a real struggle getting socks on my feet. I hop about until eventually falling into a wall or, if lucky the bed… if very unlucky into a full bath! Or perform a complicated manoeuvre leaning against the wall with one leg bent and my foot on the protruding knee (the prostitute stance). Some advise the seated approach, but I am convinced that only those who have years of gymnastic training are able to contort their bodies to make this option a comfortable one… While able to do it, just about, I would not put myself through this physical torture on a daily basis!

It seems to me then that the wrong statistic is being brought to bear as a comparison… We should not be measuring lottery success by trouser related deaths, but by sock related trauma. I can only presume that the numbers are so high the numbers quite dwarf those killed by their trousers or by falling vending machines! The person who invents the easy to get on sock wins my eternal love (durex).