We all know about black holes in space, but why don't scientists investigate domestic black holes?

When you get to a certain age, you are bound to own a domestic black hole.

In it are odd socks, that vital letter from the bank, dozens of sets of keys, your wedding ring, the cat's collar, £500, a photo of your grandmother...

When you get to a certain age, you say to yourself – this document/key/photo/sock is important to me, and I must not lose it, so I will put it in a safe place, which I will not forget.

And minutes later you turn round and it is GONE. You know you left it on the table, the hall stand, the mantle piece, the top drawer, the greenhouse, but it has vanished without trace into the black hole, and there will be weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth.

There will be accusations that your partner moved it, threw it away, stole it, that sock burglars have been in.

The house will be ransacked and the bins gone through, but you will never find that thing you know you mustn't lose.

It is one of the mysteries of the domestic universe.

Years ago, for some obscure reason, I bought an embroidered altar cloth at a jumble sale. I have never seen it since, though we have not moved house. I know I did not throw it way or give it to anyone.

It is in the Reid Mansions hole along with a watercolour I was given in 1981, and my awful wedding hat, which the black hole minders are very welcome to have.