BROWN has been the new black. Purple has been the new black at least twice. Even white has been the new black, and that's just plain silly.

But despite all this, we all know deep, deep down in the black hole of our psyche that the only black worth having is black.

A survey by Marks & Spencer has revealed that the average woman has 28 black items in her wardrobe at any one time.

She also forces herself to top up her supply by buying 17 new black items a year, just in case her favourite black cardie unexpectedly fades to an unattractive mottled grey or the little black dress she has been wearing almost continuously since 1982 spontaneously combusts.

An average of 28? Hurrah, for once in my life I'm above average. I couldn't afford to buy 17 new items a year (unless that included eight pairs of socks and a stick of liquorice), but I am the proud owner of a whole wardrobe full of black stuff. Even my neighbouring knicker draw is stuffed to capacity with black grundies, black tights and black bras.

My winter coat is black, my raincoat is black, my shoes are black, my trainers are black, my handbag (I only have the one) is black, my glasses are black, my dress (again, I only have the one) is black...

You get the idea. My point is that I like wearing black - I'm wearing a black shirt, skirt and boots as I write this - and feel no compunction to rush out and buy the latest colours paraded for our joy and delectation on the catwalk.

Don't get me wrong, my wardrobe is not a completely colour free zone. I have been known to wear pink T-shirts, red pyjamas and sky blue flip-flops, although fortunately not all at the same time. It's just that, given a choice, I feel most comfortable in black.

In my head I like to think I'm sashaying along pneumatically in my latest black number like Marilyn Monroe. In reality, I fear the end result is more like a Marilyn of the Manson variety.

But what the heck. Either way I get to wear too much mascara. Black mascara, of course.

AS evolutionary theories go, I think my friend has come up with a corker worthy of Darwin himself.

After weeks of painstaking research, she has come to the conclusion that workmen are like animals: they like to mark their territory. They also leave muck on the carpet and like to athletically scratch themselves.

Several weeks into the unadulterated joy that is a house extension, my chum is now something of an expert on workmen and their ways.

She has studied them in their natural habitat and has witnessed a particular behavioural tic that binds them all together.

From brickie to electrician and from plumber to chippy, they all like to size up the smallest room in the house before - ahem - picking up the tools of their trade.

And we're not just talking about paying a quick call either. Let's just say they usually take a newspaper with them and leave it at that.

Most are sensitive enough to actually wait until she leaves the house, but not all. One chap didn't even bother to unload her new kitchen from the van before he headed purposefully upstairs, loo roll under one arm and a copy of the Racing Post under the other.

Why they do it is anyone's guess, but my friend is beginning to wish they wouldn't.

At this rate, she'll spend more on Toilet Duck than she will on the extension.

Updated: 10:06 Monday, May 02, 2005