Has never understood the strange and mysterious forces of nature that can turn a well stocked desk drawer of fully functional pens, rolls of sellotape, sharpened pencils and other useful items into a mass of dried up, lidless felt pens (in an arresting array of colours), blunt or broken pencils, defunct biros, grubby rubbers, a confetti of hole punch debris, used staples lurking in wait to pierce the soft bit of skin around the fingernail and, inexplicably, golf balls.

NO ONE PLAYS GOLF IN THIS HOUSE.