This post is in loving memory of my late great-aunt Emmi. She was a robust woman who died a few years ago in her nineties, but her memory is still with us every day - during the cold season. She was an avid knitter, you see. Right on time for every Xmas, we received a huge parcel choke-full of hand-knitted socks and jumpers and one bar of chocolate each. Naturally, I was far more interested in the chocolate back then, but nowadays those hand-knitted socks of hers have their great comeback. Her colour scheme never was beyond doubt, I agree, and with the jumpers, it was outright criminal. Or perhaps it's just beyond all reasonable doubt ... anyway, whoever cares about the colour scheme when the socks are comfortable & warm is just envious! So, I'll beg your pardon in advance if my quirky choice of socks might offend your eye these days. Which reminds me of stupid Prince George's famous words in Blackadder: "Socks are like sex: tons of it about, and I never seem to get any!"
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