... is the one I spent days and days knitting on teensy skinny little knitting needles, out of thread-thin wool, and just could not even contemplate knitting its twin; the labour-intensity beat me, and the poor solo sock has moved house with me about eleven times. It's resting next to me now, unaware that it's gonna be binned tomorrow.
I've fed it a last supper of fish'n'chips and strawberries and cream, washed down with dandelion and burdock, followed by a coffee and an After-Eight.
Excuse me while I shed a tear!
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