Sometimes i think there are only two kinds of people in the world - those who think themselves lucky and those who think the opposite. In this formulation, neither state reflects material or emotional circumstance so much as individual nature.

It is this idea that has fostered my favourite maxim: there is nothing so unfortunate as to think oneself unfortunate. But, lately, this hasn't stopped me imagining myself exactly that.

Of course, like everyone else, I have various good reasons for imagining this; some personal, some professional. The main reason, however, is the failure of the light switch in my kitchen.

This dimmer switch was a new addition to the household. The Darkness said a dimmer switch in the kitchen was a bad idea from the start. I couldn't see why, so laughed off her doubts. But then the switch broke and The Darkness reacted as if this were the only possible outcome of such domestic recklessness.

I cursed the Ukrainian electricians. I sent them an e-mail. They blamed not only the quality of the switch they'd installed, but the modern world which fosters such shoddy workmanship. I admired their escalation while avoiding thoughts of pots and kettles. I reported back to The Darkness.

The Darkness made strange reproving noises that questioned the sense of any man who'd hire Ukrainian electricians to install a dimmer switch in a kitchen - a kitchen!

Later in the day as I trudged morosely down the street, I came across a piece of broken ethnic tat (pictured above) on the pavement. I thought two things. First, what horrors must a household have suffered to discard a treasured memento so carelessly. Perhaps they too had squabbled over lighting. Second, I imagined the broken example of ethno-bongo cultural production somehow symbolic of my own unfortunate life.

Momentarily, i found myself neck-deep in an ill-starred metaphysical game which I couldn't hope to understand, let alone win. I remembered my favourite maxim in the nick of time.