OUR kitchen bin isn’t something that usually attracts much attention. It just sits there, in the corner, gobbling up rubbish. But it has been annoying me for years. Not just this bin, but every bin we’ve ever had. Because, no matter how much money I have spent on top-of-the-range kitchen bins, the catches that keep the bin lid shut never last for long.

Perhaps it’s because of overuse. As a family of seven, we have got through a fair amount of rubbish over the years. And the boys, who seem to have been slowly demolishing our house around our ears ever since they were big enough to kick a ball, throw a cricket bat or bang a door, have never been the most gentle openers and closers of lids.

And so, all our kitchen bins have, within a matter of weeks, ended up sitting in the corner, with lids open wide, looking like rather disgusting gaping mouths, baring their regurgitated contents for all to see.

Last week, I returned home with a bin which could be the answer to my prayers: “None of you are to use this bin until I have shown you exactly how it works,” I announced as I got it out of its box.

It’s a battery powered bin with a sensor, which opens the lid automatically when you wave your hand in front of it: “No-one must touch the lid – ever,” I warned them.

I wouldn’t let them anywhere near it until I’d given them each a training session on how to use it, paying particularly close attention to point three of the safety information: “Don’t manually open the lid as it may damage it.”

Albert, who is a big fan of magic tricks, was amazed when I demonstrated, with a wave of my hand, how I could open the bin, just like that.

And then it closed, all on its own, after five seconds: “Cool,” he said. What could possibly go wrong?

Ten minutes later, Albert came running out of the kitchen: “It nearly bit my hand off, it closes far too quickly. I don’t like it,” he complained.

And so I let him in on something I was hoping to keep quiet. There is a button you can press to open the lid, which keeps it open for 90 seconds, although this obviously involves touching something which, in our house, inevitably leads to breaking something.

“Keep this information to yourself, Albert,” I told him, after I had given him an advanced training session in the use of the 90-second top secret button: “And remember, if anything happens to that button, I know you’ll be to blame.”

Everyone else is fine with the waving of the hand. True, the bin lid sometimes opens unexpectedly when you walk past. And it did rise up and smack me in the face when I tried to change the bin liner, having forgotten to press the ‘off’ button at the back.

I did also spot some greasy marks on the shiny chrome lid one day. Although everyone denied touching it, there were fingerprints all over it: “I will find out who you are,” I warned them.

As kitchen bins go, we have never had one quite as entertaining as this. I wonder how long it will last.

AFTER years of having my hair in a long side parting, I took the plunge last week and got it cut into a straight block fringe. Girlfriends have been so kind and say such lovely things, like: “It makes you look so much younger,” “It really suits your face,” and “You must keep it like that.” But, when I first returned home from the hairdresser’s I got a very different reception: “You look really weird,” said the 17-year-old. “It looks like you’ve got a big melon on top of your head,” added the 13-year-old. Given that my hair is dark, I’m presuming he meant a rotten melon. Perhaps the truth is somewhere in between.