Time was when Marks and Spencer was a (somewhat frumpish?) byword for quality in British clothing. Not so any more says I, at least if these damn towelling socks I purchased from there in bulk before I left are anything to go by.
Thoroughly mystified as to where all this odd blue fluff strewn across the tatami was actually coming from I found the source, a week or so into my little investigation, to be these bloody socks of mine. This stuff is everywhere I tell you. I have even taught lessons with the stuff in my hair for Christ's sake! Obsessive laundering of said garments is apparently to little avail - their capacity for generating this pesky matter is beyond the ken of even Stephen Hawking I'll warrant (particularly because I imagine he has very little need for socks, towelling or otherwise). All this because I read some crazy article somewhere about the relative discomfort of Japanese made socks. What bollocks! The problem is not Messrs Marks and Spencer's, it's mine, for swallowing such shite. And for choosing towelling.

Imagine writing a whole entry about socks.