I am being plagued by deep philosophical questions, the kind that make you want to accost strangers in the street - grab their lapels and shout "do you know? do you know??" on the off-chance that someone, somewhere, knows the answer.

So I'll ask you dear reader, do you maybe know ... where all the forks have gone?

Seriously, my sanity is at stake here. Where are they??? We have plentiful amounts of knives and spoons, of both the tea and table variety, but almost no forks. Is there a fork heaven?

I stood in the kitchen and stared at the cupboards and contemplated "If I were a fork, where would I be?" but I didn't get very far, because I accidentally started thinking about what my life would be like as a fork.

Stab the food, into the mouth, stab the food, into the mouth. Ahh! Now I'm dirty and germy! Ahh! Now I'm being washed! Mmm, now I am clean, and hanging with my cutlery friends. Those knives think they're sharper than everyone else, but I know better. Have you been inside her mouth? It's so disgusting!

I have WAY TOO MUCH TIME ON MY HANDS.

Okay, actually the forks are just one of the casualties in my household. I live in permanent anarchy, mother whirls everything around like a mini tornado, and all I can do to keep some crumbs of sanity is put a lock on my door.

On principle I really don't like locks though, I don't even like walls. I really ought to put some up, because ... walls keep you safe by cutting you off from people, out of sight, out of mind; and maybe I need that, because things aren't out of my sight, even when they're not physically there, and I'm going out of my mind.

Don't you hate it when your brain knows exactly what you should do but the rest of you vetoes it?

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