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I was searching through a jewellery box, looking for an earring sleeper when I found them: little bone-white lumps of enamel — the serial killer podcasts I listen to make me paranoid, so initially I freaked out, thought I might be accidentally murdering people — but they were my daughter’s teeth, relics from my days as the Tooth Fairy. Such a gruesome, pagan thing to do, sneaking into the room of a sleeping child and swiping their molars. I’d forgotten they were there, but forgetting stuff is de rigueur at the moment. I have more "to do" lists than the Guy Pearce character in Memento suffering from anterograde amnesia who uses notes and tattoos to help his recall.