Fiddlee-diddlee-aye.

When is a felonious kleptosquatter not a felonious kleptosquatter? Answer: when it's a fiddlee-diddlee-aye. Aye as in pie, as in Scots for yes.

Let me explain:

Our home, like all others has certain quirks - the socks that go missing, one at a time; the kitchen scissors that never reside in the kitchen; the sellotape dispensers that never have a roll of sellotape in them; and the loo roll tubes that leap out of the waste paper bin and roll all over the floor - see yesterday's blog. Now all of these quirks, I blame on our resident felonious kleptosquatter. Which is fine and convenient and makes a good story.

However, certain other quirks have come to light: the dressing table that is never quite as you left it; the bookmark that has crept forward to a new and alien chapter in the book next to your bed; the mobile phone that has somehow changed all its settings, apparently and entirely of its own volition; the newly iced cake with little finger marks imprinted all round its edge; and the rearranged, scattered and dropped earing collection on teenage girl's desk. Nothing is ever missing - so neither felonious, nor klepto and I suspect that the fiddlee-diddlee-aye is a fully fledged member of this family, so not squatter either.

Hmmm ... Littlest?

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