Notorious "Sock Pervert" of Little Willows was tried yesterday. Gerald Cox, 67, went on a 9 month sock stealing spree, breaking into houses to rummage through laundry. The police found over 5000 socks in his bed. Cox was sent for psychiatric evaluation after his defence argued that he had suffered a mental breakdown when his wife left him. At first he just wondered from room to room, like he was searching for her. Now that she had gone, he had lost himself maybe that is why; he wasn't searching for her but himself. He struggled to breathe, the weight of losing her pressed down on him like the gravity of Jupiter. Moira is her name, was her name. He walked into the bedroom and opened a drawer to find it stuffed with odd socks. He ripped it out of the chest. This was wrong, socks should be in pairs, things worked better that way, after all the animals went into the ark two by two. He picked up each individual sock and arranged them precisely on the bed. He then set about searching the rest of the house. He only managed to make 2 pairs of socks out of 17. His search was so determined that he had even found the courage to go through Moira's things. Realising that soon that all her stuff would have to go made everything ache and his search more pressing. At 3am he decided to sleep on the sofa; he couldn't bear to face all the incompleteness on his bed. Every day that week he had sympathy dinners at relatives' houses which meant that at some point during the proceedings he could sneak out and go looking in drawers and washing baskets. He would then stuff any socks into his pockets to take them home. He found 11 socks but none made pairs. It was comforting to have such a small problem in an ocean of misery; at least it was at first. Over the next few days he made the funeral arrangements. In those days, he still pretended to be a person but he had already separated mind and body, seeing the world from outside himself. It had been like this since Moira had got back from the doctors with the news. He felt as though life was something that happened to him. Before that he believed that he could be master of his own destiny. When the funeral was over the void got larger and people stopped calling. He waded through the tasks of settling the estate like trying to persuade the gas company not to cut him off because the account was in her name. He called anywhere that had a lost property box, unsurprisingly he found nothing. The will was read, everything was left to him or the cat rescue centre as they didn't have any children. He visited the local laundrettes but didn't find much except for some funny looks from the assistants. Washing lines seemed a fruitful source being quite agile for his age he could easily scale a garden fence. By October he had visited most of the neighbourhood. The weather changed and there were dark mutterings about a pervert foot fetishist on the loose. Gerald was worried that his little village was going to the dogs and made a mental note not to hang anything out. During this time his collection had grown to nearly 297 but he only had 17 pairs. Then there was a knock at the door, two policemen. Being a public spirited sort he invited them in and gave them a cup of tea. When they showed interest in his collection he realised something was a foot- excuse the pun. He was given a caution and given 36 days to return the socks. The problem was that he couldn't remember where they had come from and the thought of the house being empty again was too much. He went up to the attic and found his old tools. In the mornings he would watch his neighbours leave for the day, carefully open the doors and search for the odd sock bag or drawer, empty it and carry it home. It was a particularly fruitful period, he found 76 pairs. It was while he was at Mrs McKinney's that he was caught. She had returned to collect her son's PE kit. He must admit that it would have looked bad, him riffling through their washing basket and all. She got him in an arm lock and pinned him against the wall while she dialled 999. He always marvelled at the way women could multi task. The police came and put him in the cell. Despite the brightness and beigeness of the cell it was a relief not to be in the house alone. The guard's footsteps out in the hall were such a comforting sound. He stretched out on the bench, so much roomier than the sofa and had his best night’s sleep in ages. At the interview he was confident that he would explain himself and they would see it was all a frightful misunderstanding. He was shocked to find himself going to court and stunned to see the whole street turn out for the trial. After all, nobody came to see him when Moira died. He pleaded guilty and all 578 of the socks were sent to the police for returning. He was asked to pay costs and sent to the shrinks; so here he is. "Mr Cox it seems to me that you have a disassociative disorder. At first this helped you keep calm and focussed while taking care of your wife. However, as time has progressed your sense of detachment has grown. Losing control of your life and acting out your sense of grief by trying to complete pairs of socks. If we work together we will help you rebuild your sense of self." Gerald nodded his head; it seemed like a sensible idea. | 
