I know that I should be writing something deep and meaningful about suffrage this week. It’s 100 years since women (well, about 23 of them) were given the vote as long as they were over 30 and owned property.
However, there is something that is concerning me a lot more, to be honest. I have no idea where all the forks in our home have gone – that really isn’t a joke.
At one point I had 16, having bought two sets of Jamie Oliver cutlery from TK Maxx.
Obviously Jamie didn’t actually make them, and I have doubts as to whether he even designed them, as I imagine he has a team of folk who do that sort of thing and stick a photo of his physog on the package.
Anyway, at last count I have six lying in the kitchen drawer.
I have quizzed the offspring and demanded that they check under their beds to see where the missing forks are because I know that they aren’t under my bed.
Although when I did look there it was amazing what I found, including a pair of thermal socks which have proved very handy during this cold spell of weather.
It could be that there is a little Bermuda Triangle somewhere – a sort of invisible area where things just go and are never seen again.
Occasionally, it is some of my favourite clothes – although they are sometimes under my bed or have been pilfered by one of my daughters.
Other things that have disappeared recently are earrings (well, they were absolutely tiny), a leather dog lead and a bar of chocolate that I had hidden in a different kitchen drawer.
If you asked my husband to add to that list he’d probably claim that I have also lost my marbles.
He is a bit cheeky that way and I may need to have words with him.
So, whatever, I don’t suppose it really matters too much in the great scheme of things, because whoever I vote for in the next election won’t be able to find my forks.