Hello again, great weather we're having isn't it!
So much so that the layer of mud encrusted limpet-like onto the blubbery skin of my trainers was finally enough of a reason to give them a good old wash.
After scraping the crustaceans from my footwear I popped them into the washing machine for a short 'sports-shoes' cycle and eagerly awaited the boxfresh smell to permeate my senses as the sweaty foot smell had been doing for the last few months.
Unfortunately I failed to recall from the last time I laundered my laced lower-limb loafers that laces and washing machines are not the best of friends.
When I retrieved my clean and shiny shoes from the bowels of the beast it was soon apparent that a small memento had been retained by the Whirled Pool and I would have to be thankful nothing further had been kept as a toll by the wet tumbling demon.
One lace brutally severed in it's prime, right forever doomed to ridicule as the stumpy cousin of left.
Lesson learned.
Price paid.
So my evening run tonight will be tinted with the memory of that lost flugelbinder and the frayed end will now become soggy and dirtied as I tramp through the puddles on the track out the back. Never to return to it's former glory as the easy-eyelet-insertation device it once was.
Fallen comrade, I shall remember you.
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"Hey! Look! A pack of ten laces on Amazon for a fiver! Sweet..."
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