Jack Straw  RSS feed | About

Comment | Read Comments (3)

It's not often my hosiery gets me into the headlines. Usually it's my silk tights and lace ruff - an essential part of my kit as Lord Chancellor.

But last week it was the pair of socks - a Christmas gift from a friend and colleague in Blackburn - which were the focus of attention for some newspapers.

Some people are follically challenged. They fret about bald patches, or going grey (something which has never bothered me).

For me the challenge is not at the top, but at the bottom, and specifically in the footwear department.

My problem is that most mornings I simply cannot locate a pair of socks which match.

Just where do they go? It is a mystery which I suspect will never be solved.

Somewhere in this world - or perhaps the next - there are lots of odd socks of mine.

One day someone might come across them - the Straw Socks - lurking behind radiators, or in gym bags, or collected together in some strange dark place unknown to man.

And even when I do make the occasional effort to match those odd socks I do have in the drawer, it's astonishing how they disappear almost as quickly.

So there is a real sense of triumph when I find two similar looking socks which are identical.

Enter those socks I wore last week. The ones with a small picture of someone slumbering, over the large legend 'LIVE TO WORK'.

They are about the only ones I own which have not become separated from each other, or disappeared into some strange void.

And last Thursday it was - as usual - a little bit of a rush to get up and out.

My main pre-occupation was finding my gym kit, for my regular session in the spinning class.

So I went into the drawer and scrubbed around for a pair.

Then - like the relief at Mafeking - in the nick of time I spotted the LIVE TO WORK ones.

Glory be. On they went. It did occur to me that as I was doing a visit to a prison that morning, with media present, I of course would be photographed.

But it's rare for my socks to appear, paired or not. Out I went.

As we left the jail, I was told that my socks had been commented upon by some of the journalists present.

I'd been sitting down, chatting to some prisoners about their efforts to get off drugs and drink and on the path to a life away from crime, and the little man and the LIVE TO WORK slogan had been spotted.

Sure enough, a picture appeared in the papers the next day.

So a few people have asked me if my socks were some sort of signal to the world, an attempt to promote a hard working, Puritan sort of lifestyle.

Not even I would go that far. But I do believe that working hard is rewarding.

It benefits us all as individuals, making us well rounded, and better able to appreciate friends and family when we are not exercising brain or brawn.

It's one of the many reasons I'm so concerned for those who cannot get work.

But as for whether I was trying with my LIVE TO WORK socks to send out some subliminal message to the world, I'm sorry to disappoint.

The truth is much more prosaic. I'm just hopeless at keeping my pairs of socks together.

11:10am Thursday 7th February 2008

Print

Email this

Comment

Add your comment

Name:
Email: *
Location:
**
	e.g. 123-123
Comment: Please note: All HTML tags will be ignored. Format Text:
By posting a comment, I confirm that I have read and agree to the terms of use. Comments are not moderated but we will react if anything that breaks the rules comes to our attention and we may delete inappropriate postings. Please treat other people with respect. You must not post anything that is abusive, indecent, unlawful or defamatory. Remember, you are personally liable for what you post on this site. If you wish to complain about a comment, contact us here.
* Your email address will not be displayed ** To avoid register now or login

Start a conversation on Jack Straw's column - or any topic under the sun - in our new Forum.