Binbags in the attic

Saying hello to your summer wardrobe again, all those light, colourful skirts and dresses and tops that have been packed away for the last six months, is like meeting old friends who you haven't seen for ages. There are some new friends amongst my old, familiar clothes - floaty tops, a blue skirt that I have no recollection of buying, a long, sparkly kaftan. Where on earth did they come from? Did they sneak away from someone else's binbags in the attic, in order to visit mine? Or did I snatch them off a sale rail in a moment of madness last dreary August, then not get a chance to wear them because the sun didn't come out again till now?

It's boosted my spirits, getting out all my lovely, floaty things, ironing linen, washing cotton, checking carefully for moths (none, I'm pleased to say). There was a moment of breath-holding as I tried things on and hoped and prayed that I hadn't grown too fat for them, but my bulges seem to be in the same places they were last summer.

Now I have the problem of reacquainting myself with my summer sandal collection. This is vast, and useless. Almost every pair gives me blisters. Several are already in the boot sale bag. Yesterday, I walked a mile to M&S and a mile back in toe-post sandals and now have a skinned toe so can't even wear flip-flops. Another pair of softest pale blue leather have a strap that fastens round the ankle, that is fashioned for people with fetlocks halfway up their calves. None of the Velcro on the straps coincides with its corresponding counterpart. They just don't fit. Methinks they are made for Clementine who, in the famous song, wore 'herring boxes without topses' for sandals. I would gladly give her these, if she had not 'fallen into the foaming brine'.

So I have the frocks, I just don't have the comfy shoes to go with them. Guess I shall have to wrap my tender toes in sticking plasters and hobble through till Autumn.