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It started with only one lost dog in the woods...

- Rosemary

You find me hunched over the ironing board in the kitchen and thinking dark thoughts about Mrs Bertha Berman.

Tell me honestly, is there any more soul-destroying occupation known to womankind than the ironing and attempted folding of fitted bed sheets? Well, Mrs B is the lady to blame.

One day in 1959, somewhere in America, she was cursing her poor, inoffensive non-fitted sheet because it wouldn’t stay attached to her mattress – perhaps because the Bermans wriggled a lot at night. Anyway, she fitted a piece of elastic to each corner and the world of bed sheets has never been the same since that moment.

My mood is not improved by a strange noise coming from the sitting room. About five minutes ago, Mr Dear took delivery of two fig rolls and a mug of hot chocolate. He is now sitting in his favourite armchair, playing his ukulele, and pretending he is George Formby. In his best impression of a Lancashire accent, he sings:

Look at Empress Josephine, the most attractive woman that ever was seen

Yet Napoleon, short and fat, captivates a lovely looking dame like that

Now if women like them like men like those

Why don’t women like me?