The Eleventh Day....

Andy in the Java Junction, Madrid.

It was here that I had a revelation about socks.

Later, when we were leaving America and going through the security search bit I had to take off my cowboy boots. The woman who was patting me down said, "I like your socks."

They were different colours. In fact different socks. One was blue and grey and green checks and the other was black and red stripes. I've been wearing Cowboy boots since September, 1963, and it had never occurred to me until I came to America that my socks didn't need to match if no one saw them. And even when anyone did see them, like this security guard, we agreed they looked pretty good not matching.

So ever since I've come back to Scotland, even if by accident I take two matching socks out of the cupboard, I change one so that they are odd socks. Anything else would feel strange.

You can bash on for a long time, forty eight years of wearing cowboy boots in my case, then suddenly one day realise that you are making a big effort doing something, sorting out and pairing up your socks, that doesn't make any sense at all.

I had to go all the way to America, to the Java Junction in Madrid, to learn this about socks.