As you know, my life is a constant battle against the forces of evil. My main enemy is the Sock Conspiracy. And the Greeting Card Industry. Okay, my two main enemies are the Sock Conspiracy and the Greeting Card Industry. And pasnips. Three! My three main enemies are the Sock Conspiracy, the Greeting Card Industry, and parsnips. And spider-thieves.
Plus, there's the ever-present threat of falling into a Monty Python sketch, and nobody wants that, especially unexpectedly...
Anyway, this morning the Sock Conspiracy struck again!
For Christmas, I received seven pairs of Doctor Who socks. Naturally, these were not all identical socks, but instead had a variety of designs - some featured the Doctor Who logo, some K-9, some the Fourth Doctor, and so on. This means that most days this year I have been wearing some sort of Doctor Who socks. And this morning was no different.
So, I took today's pair from the sock drawer and placed the first sock on my right foot, as is my wont. (I've experimented with wearing socks on my elbows, but it didn't end well. In the end, I concluded the feet were probably best.)
I then reached for the second sock, intent on putting it on my left foot, only to discover, to my horror, that it didn't match - although my right foot bore the be-scarfed visage of Tom Baker, the second sock was clearly marked with the TARDIS!
The horror of this revelation is hard to put into words. So shocked was I that I was forced to return to the sock drawer in a futile bid to find the other mis-paired socks. But, alas, they are gone.
And that's the story of how I came to be wearing Davros socks this morning.