It seems the hit series Lost has returned to our screens for another run, although that is hardly an apt phrase since none of them actually go anywhere, trapped as they are on a desert island. If this description is not correct you will forgive me since I have never seen an episode of the said drama since it looks too uncomfortably like a reality TV show for my liking.
It is an appropriate enough time for it to be appearing again though because my own sad existence has entered a phase where I have started to lose things at an alarming rate. Those of you who read this column regularly will know that this might be connected to the phenomenon described a few weeks ago where I was becoming increasingly clumsy so do not be surprised if, putting these two things together, you hear that I now need help to find my way to the toilet in my own home.
What is particularly disturbing about this misplacing of items, however, is that it challenges my manhood since we all know that men never, ever, lose things. It is genetically impossible for a man to be so careless as to have lost an important item. This being the case we males have established a failsafe routine for finding any lost object.
The first element in this strategy is to blame someone else for having moved it. As men always know exactly the last place they had any given artefact then it is sensible that if it is not in that place then someone else must have moved it. Car keys will suffice as an example. Men always leave car keys in exactly the same place every time they enter the house. How can it be then that they will turn up in jackets that we have not worn for two years, in drawers that are filled with someone else's cosmetics or, on one memorable occasion, in the cat's basket? This part of the strategy is best affected from the best chair and involves copious amounts of shouting and irrational accusation. This serves to emphasise that all in the house need to stop whatever they are doing and join the search.
Part two of the strategy is the martyr phase. It involves claiming that there is a pattern, perhaps even a conspiracy, in the house whereby objects you have carefully placed are deliberately moved and this in turn is causing you stress, heartburn, eczema, palpitations, headaches and irritated bowel syndrome, but not necessarily in that order. Often the outcome of this second phase strategy will be the offer of a family member to search for the lost object while someone else gets you a cup of coffee to help you relax.
If all of this has been unsuccessful then you must enter phase three and initiate your own search. According to the Observer this involves us males in a reversion to type where we once again become hunter-gatherers and use a technique known as the Levy whereby we literally jump from place to place and upend all in sight until the prey shows itself. Often women will again offer to search for us at this point because it is easier than clearing up the mess which will inevitably ensue. Women, of course, who have no roots in the hunting for survival stakes, will follow a much more boring strategy and search the house in a slow and systematic fashion accompanied by screams of 'Have you found them yet?' from an adjoining room.
If all of this has failed then the final and most drastic phase must be entered. This is called the threat phase. The male should slowly and quietly put on his coat and then announce to the whole family unit that 'I am going out now and by the time I get back someone had better have found my keys, glasses or whatever!' If the females are feeling especially uppity there may be responses along the lines of 'Good riddance and don't come back' but the male must hold his nerve and leave with a flourish, halting only to give one last reminder of that which is being sought as in 'And by the way it is my black glasses you are looking for!'
However, and this is crucial, the time away should be used fruitfully because it is a law of nature that when you return the said lost object will have been found in the first place that you yourself looked and would not allow anyone else to check. Hence you will need a fiendishly brilliant explanation and an ace up your sleeve to pay off the levy that will inevitably have to be forfeited before peace can return to the family home. Now where exactly did I put that e-mail address?
