It was the four year old, in the bedroom, with a red crayon.

Perhaps I wasn't looking hard enough for the fine print in my guide to rearing children book. Maybe an entire chapter had mysteriously gone missing. But no where did it mention that upon having children I would have to don a blue plastic suit and whip out my forensics kit at a moments notice to solve many a household mystery.

If you have children, I imagine that you are nodding your head at this very moment. Every day seems to hold a new and exciting puzzle to solve, some easy, some, not so much.

Le Artiste, thankfully, does not seem destined for a life of crime (there you go mum, that should help you sleep easier at nights). When a sticky blue snake is to be found dangling from his bedroom ceiling, he will simply stare at the floor, stare back at the snake, shrug his shoulders and say "Yes, sorry mum, it was me. I threw the snake at the ceiling." Which is always handy as it saves me many unnecessary hours of canvasing the neighbourhood looking for someone who is randomly throwing sticky blue snakes around.

Petal, on the other hand, will deny all crimes, regardless of how blatantly all signs point to her. Whilst using a handy blue biro to scrawl a tag on the lamp shade when no one is around seems like a well executed plan, scrawling your own name will in fact give the game away entirely. As it will when written on the bookshelf or across Dolly's forehead. I'm sure with age she will attempt a wee bit more discretion, but you can bet your bottom dollar that I won't be fooled if I see *Mummy* penned cunningly on to the coffee table, oh no, I will be onto that like a shot... just as soon as I check out my own alibi.

Admittedly, I have a small crime file of my very own, some misdemeanors which I remember and some which I'm sure my parents would be more than happy to remind me of. There was the time I thought it would be a fabulous idea to cut some decorative shapes into my bedroom blind. The time I thought I would try my hand at hairdressing and trim myself a fringe (or bangs, for you American folks) which I then thought I could cleverly disguise with around 20 bobby pins. Oh, and not to forget the time I aimed my slingshot at a lemon and instead took out the stained glass panel next to our neighbours front door, for which my sister caught the initial blame, oops. Ah yes, happy memories, don't you agree mum ? I just know you're reading this with a smile on your face.

Anyway, now it is my turn to play detective. Will I ever be able to solve the mystery of the bent towel rail ? Hmm, yes my dear Watson, I think I see a clue.