SO David Blaine is alive and he's no longer hungry. Great. But I reckon we missed the most exciting part of the whole show.

His people took him away in a big emotional heap of hungry hormones, sobbing his happy little heart out and telling us the world was beautiful, but there was no whiff of a meal in sight as a reward for his 44-day abstinence.

If I had not eaten for that length of time and the stopwatch had just hit 44 days, I would really not want to waste my precious minutes yelling about the beauty of the universe. I would want to get my pizza order in. Followed by a lot of other orders, and just keep them coming until I say stop.

I was confused when he didn't seem like he would eat his own hand if they didn't feed him quickly. Perhaps, after he was taken into the ambulance, he got to choose his 'first meal'. He may have grown fond of his new, slimline figure and gone for the macrobiotic option. Or it could be that he had to be weaned back on to solids with mini Baby Bells for the first few days.

Who knows? But my point is: we wanted to know. What was the point of showing the world his hunger if he wasn't then going to satiate those of us who were going through it with him (in a spiritual sense). For all we know, he could still be hungry, ranting about the ephemeral beauty of things - that's the hunger talking, David. The very idea that there wasn't any food in that ambulance is driving me straight to the kitchen for a survival snack of cheese on toast.

APPARENTLY, a lot of men these days just want to stay at home and do the dusting. Six in ten to be precise, find housework to be satisfying and only 40 per cent want to be breadwinners. Ordinarily, I should find this news to be a great big feminist triumph as it opens up my position in the workplace with the wilting male competition. Instead, I find it to be most untimely, because I am beginning to fantasise about staying at home to make curtains and do the dusting myself.

Rather than frittering away my hours at the office, banging away senselessly on a computer, there are bigger plans I have for my future. I would one day love to create the perfect souffle and try every one of the recipes in The Domestic Goddess book and have the home smelling of freshly baked cookies when my other half (the cat?) gets home.

Some may say I'm overworked and need a holiday but I say it goes deeper than that. There is a part of me that has sacrificed itself for office life and now that I have been accepted in the testosterone-fuelled environment, I am not sure I want to stay. And just when I was nearly ready to embrace John Lewis' haberdashery department, men get in there before me and take over my sewing machine. Typical.