I Love the sound the filp flops make. The flip, the flop. The sharp THWACK on the sole of your foot is somewhat invigorating and comforting all at the same time. Thwack - I like the word.....thwack......very onomatopaeic.
I do however hate the thwack sound a daddy-long-legs makes against the ceiling when you are trying to sleep. In fact, I have an irrational fear of crane flies. I even wrenched my neck once, when one flew between my face and the pages of a book I was reading in bed. Thwack.
Daddy-long-legs hold other terrors, false teeth and face masks. As a young child I fled to my Nan's room, a daddy-long-legs thwacking in my bedroom. To my horror Nan had a green face pack on and no teeth (they were lying grinning on the table)! In terror I ran back to my room and sobbed into the bedcovers. The memory still puts a shiver down my spine. Odd then, that I spent ten years in entomological research. I was sort of OK so long as the insects did not fly. I digress.
I love wearing my flip flops. The excitement when it is a flip flop day. Just sliding my feet into those airy soles transports me to the carefree days of warm weather and a trip to the beach. School holidays were an escape from the restriction of shoes......barefeet and flip flops. This elation flopped at the end of summer, when wild feet had to be crammed back into tight and uncomfortable leather.
In Scotland I persist with my flip flops despite the weather. I paint my toe nails and off we go together. Flip flop. Big smile. I must admit that this can be quite an extreme sport. When my feet are blue with cold I have to resort to alternative footwear. Maybe I will knit some socks with the big toe seperate, so that I can extend the flip flop wearing season, me thinks.
Flip flop also represents my moods. Flip when I am good. Flop when depression takes hold. Flip flop, flip flop, that is just how it is. One moment OK, the next a dismal black hole of desperation. Everything good sucked in and gone. Flip flop. I put them on and try to flip my flop. It does not necessarily work, but I like to try. Sometimes I cry.
There is a line in a song that I like to sing out loud (Port Isaac Fisherman's Friends):
"Come on you no-hopers, you jokers and rogues
We're on the road to nowhere, let's find out where it goes
It may be a ladder to the stars, who knows......."
This is me and my flip flops. Not sure where we are going and it often feels hopeless, but I still want to flip flop along and to see where it goes. To be less sensible, to worry less, to be a joker and a rogue just once in a while. So, flip flop, flip flop, I'm on my way. Flip flop, no silent approach, everyone knows you have set off on your journey. Flip flop, let's see where it goes.
Funny. Today, whilst I was writing this, there was a programme on the radio entitled 'Flip flops'!!! Good grief. The subject? Globalisation. I have never thought of my flip flops like this before. Go flip flops go! I think I am rather proud of my flip flops now. I would like to write a Pam Ayres-esque poem on flip flops, but I do not have the skill. So Pam, if you are looking for a subject, please feel free - lots of words rhyme with thwack!
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