I have often wondered if 'low energy' light bulbs are so called because they suck the life out of you.

Maybe it's the fact that when you turn on the light switch there is still time to trip over in the dark before the light comes on. Maybe it's the fact they have a hue which is the colour of an old man's vest. Or maybe it's because their longevity feels more a threat than a treat: they just sit there, two expensive to discard, too pious to disdain, like a dutiful but reluctant aged retainer that refuses to die.

But then came the Philips Tornado; and it blew me away. First of all, when you hit the switch, it springs into life easily in time for you to see your next step. It is truly as bright as a 100w bulb. The light it throws is white, soft and warm like a cosy bed (and let's not get too misty eyed about the yellow tinge of tungsten). It's compact, so you don't have to see it self-righteously peeping out above the lamp shade. And when I bought it it was the price of a pint of out-of-London beer (though the price has fluctuated to London cocktail price since).

What's not to like?

So the fact that the bulb I have acquired on the eve of my daughter going to school, will be the same one that lights her way to University, feels just fine. And perhaps if I buy a few dozen more, the money I have saved in the interim will help pay her fees. For a morning.

We have recently joined a fitness centre that has a family pool. Despite being a centre with no obvious ostentation, it does have the ludicrous rule that everyone who goes near the swimming pool must wear a swimming cap. Why? To protect the water filters. Perhaps we should bring our own chlorine tablets too.

But who fools with pool rules? Not us. So we had to purchase swimming caps that would be accepted by a) a three year girl with a decent amount of hair, and b) an autistic five year old boy with considerable sensory issues.

This was a job for Amazon. Very few swimming caps seemed to pass the test of being applicable to the head of a small person without creating a small pool of tears. But this no-label, pointlessly motifed little number was consistently voted tear-resistant. Well, those reviewers were not lying. This is a swimming hat you can put on and take off a small child, with or without long hair or sensory issues, quickly and simply and without so much as a murmur.

I take my hat off to that. Well I would if it didn't mean I'd be thrown out...

As anyone who has ever been in need of a door stop will be aware, this is an item that essentially comes in two forms. The first is the 'wedge': a triangle of wood or rubber; cheap, effective, and ugly. The second is the 'bookend': the metal L shape, almost invariably depicting a domesticated animal; expensive, annoying and ugly.

So there are already two good reasons to be grateful for this stylish rubber and chrome bollard (and by the way, that ugly label round its middle in the picture is, thankfully, removable).

Placed on carpet it does just fine. The images of wedges and a black spotted pig in the shape of a bookend both fade from the memory. The door has been withheld with both economy and style.

But then, the slide to despair. This comes when you place the chrome door stop on a wooden floor, and moments later hear the dull thud of the door stop hitting the doorframe as its rubber base despairingly fails to grip the floor surface. Worse still, in my case, you will find the chrome is not tough enough to withstand this clattering, and emerges with a dent. So much for rubber providing protection.

Sadly this doorstop can only stand up for itself in the easy world of carpets. Out there on the battlefields of smooth flooring, the wedge soldiers on.

Are printers now in the top ten most weary-inducing products to purchase? They are reliably unreliable, so buying one every two or three years now seems unavoidable. And it goes without saying they always break on a Friday evening just as you hit print on that job application or vital document that you must submit for Monday.

So one always finds oneself speed-reading Amazon reviews late at night for products that appear to do so much for the price it's a wonder they don't claim to print by telepathy too. And yet ratings all cluster around the 2 to 3 star area because, infallibly, half the reviewers have found that the thing does indeed print telepathically while using almost no ink and having the build quality of a Bentley; while the other half are writing their review on a mobile device while transporting their new purchase straight to the local municipal dump.

So, as you may be able to discern, I purchased this printer more in hope than expectation - the hope in this case being that if the damn thing happened to work, I'd get my money back in saved ink costs within a year.

I tried to get myself into a zen state by setting aside a whole morning of holiday, while the kids were in school, so that I could try to set it up, fail, swear, phone help lines, try again, settle for using USB rather than Wi-Fi, etc.

In fact the journey from box opening to printed document was just 30 minutes - leaving me with the rest of morning to fail at something else, but at least with the knowldge I had one triumph in the bank.

The printer comes with the usual wordless instructions - relying on the communicative power of illustration. Needless to say these illustrations don't precisely correspond with reality, but they do set you on a logic path which means you get there on your own painlessly. There are also many pictures in the instructions devoted to whether you have the right kind of router to configure simply, or whether you need to pause while you obtain a degree in computer science. But I just made the assumption that since my router is only about 18 months old, the simple option would probably work - and it did. It found my wireless router, asked me to enter the security password (or string as it quaintly calls it) via the clunky, but once-only, interface in the menu screen, and we had connection. I then loaded the CD for the software, clicked on the Mac OS version, since I am an Apple user, and the Kodak and I walked hand in hand into print heaven.

Print quality is sharp, clean and good. Speed is Ok, not remarkable. It's a little bit noisy, but it's also a little bit cheap, so paupers can't be choosers. Just two ink cartridges - one for B&W and one for colour - is a delight, and they are indeed very cheap: around a third of the cost of my previous HP printer, depending on how good a discount I could get online.

Couple of minor grumbles. First, the build quality is OK but no more - particularly the hilariously retro plastic arm which holds the printer open when inserting print cartridges. Much like a 1950s Morris Minor bonnet - although that at least was metal. Second, once up and running, you can go online to register to the Kodak site, which activates all the groovy monitoring and maintenance of the printer. But it also invites you to download the software again on the grounds that what you have is out of date. No idea if it is; but why not just make the whole process online and drop the disk?

Finally, I have gone through the process of getting the printer's own email address, and successfully printed directly from an iPhone (just follow the instructions in the handbook - which are words not pictures - and it is very simple). This is pretty damn close to the telepathy function. Can't think when I'll ever use it; but I guess when I do, it'll know before me.

If you are looking for a long extension cable that is quick and easy to transport and roll out, this is a good choice at a good price.

It doesn't have the industrial strength thickness and quality, or the built-in circuit breaker, you might get with a more expensive cable. But then, like me, you may not need that. I already have a circuit breaker I plug in to the mains - and in turn plug this reel into. Its bright blue colour has hi-viz safety benefits if you have it out on the grass in the garden. And it is remarkably light, so getting it out for a quick and simple job at the far end of the garden doesn't feel a big deal.

I agree with someone else who said the cable can come off the drum and down the side if you are not careful. But I haven't found this to be a major annoyance.

Is this a five star piece of filmmaking? No. Is it a film of five star importance? No doubt at all.

'Restrepo' follows a US Army Company as it secures an outpost in the most dangerous valley in Afghanistan. I've never been in the military, but I have heard enough soldiers talk to know that in warfare actual contacts with the enemy happen remarkably rarely. But for this group of soldiers contacts happen several times a day. The fighting is almost incessant. And the camera is ever present.

So why isn't it great filmmaking? It's a film in which the characters who feature in the post conflict interviews are not clearly followed and developed in the war footage. It is often hard to make out what's going on: there is no commentary, few captions, and poor sound quality. Scenes are collections of shots rather than sequences. The editing is functional.

But then the filmmakers have the greatest excuse of all for these limitations: they had to focus first of all on survival. And indeed one of them, Tim Hetherington, was recently to die while filming war. Their courage is remarkable beyond comprehension: they are where the soldiers are - but with the camera as their only weapon. And that is what makes this film essential viewing, and what makes Hetherington and Jurgen heroes of documentary. They have taken us to naked war, in the raw. It's a place so frightening the viewer can hardly bare it. You will find yourself wanting to shout 'get down' as these soldiers, and filmmakers, walk about, almost casually, while gunfire envelopes them. It's a film that shows us how the bravery and resilience of fighting men turns inevitably to vengeance and hurt. The interviews are in big close-up - close enough to see the damage.

There is one section of the film, the middle third, that must be the most powerful 25 minutes of film about war ever created. It shows an operation called Rock Avalanche. The very recall of the name is enough to bring blank terror to the eyes of these seasoned soldiers. And though the action footage makes for only a few minutes you will never ever forget it.

For all of us who have never fought, and possibly never could, this is as close as we will get to understanding.

My five year old son, who happens to be autistic, has long since grown out of wooden train sets. But 'proper' train sets are still too delicate and fiddly. Tomy have come up with the perfect stage in between - and that would be true for any child, as his younger non-autistic sister and older cousins would testify.

The train is powered by a single size C battery. It doesn't require a screwdriver to insert it. It has two speeds, and a very simple on/off/speed switch. The track is easy to put together, durable, and tolerant: the train will stay on the rails even if they are not perfectly aligned.

But the fun is in the station. I wasn't sure about this at first. It looked too fussy. But in fact it is a work of genius. It is powered by 3 type C batteries (small screwdriver required), and when switched on becomes like a beautiful Victorian toy. The train is halted at the station as it comes around the track. The barrier lifts to allow the first car to cross the track; once across, the train is then allowed through. Then a series of paddles lift the car up a ramp, until it gets to the top, and races back down to the level crossing again - or joins a queue, since up to five cars can be used (it comes with two). All the while the crossing clangs its warning, and things whir and click. My son finds it utterly entrancing - and seeks out the numerous angles from which to watch this poetry in motion.

And furthermore the train can also be made to halt or go at points around the track by pulling a little lever. It comes with a good amount of track, but if you buy some extension track too, you end up with a really big trainset, with lots of possibilities, and plenty of scope for interaction. For the autistic child there is huge potential to extend play, and to get involved in his or her world. And if they do throw pieces about, they are tough enough to take it.

When we first had it I rushed out to buy some rechargeable batteries, assuming this much activity would drain the batteries within a day or two. But incredibly the first set of batteries lasted two months, despite being played with every day.

There's plenty else to buy to develop the set and keep it interesting. Full marks to Tomy - they really have come up with a beautiful toy.

I have just bought the Adrenaline GTS 11 - and realised that my first pair were a GTS 5. I'm not sad enough to have had every edition in between, but I have had several.

I originally bought a pair after having a fitting at a specialist running shop - one where they get you to try on several different makes, and watch you running up and down the street to see which is most suitable. I strongly advise anyone half serious about running to do this, because you end up with just the right shoe for you. In my case I'm a pronating, wide and flat-footed fool, who strikes quite hard with the heel. And it seems this is the shoe for such an evolutionary dead end as me.

What's impressive is the consistency of this Adrenaline series that over many years they have remained the right shoes for me (and you tend to get injuries if shoes are not right). They are well made and durable - indeed I have always refreshed my pair long before they have given out.

So, if you've had them before be assured: they are as good as ever. And if you haven't, get yourself assessed - and if you are told this is what you need, you've got a good shoe. Even if Darwinism has drawn you a short straw.

Sunday night is ironing night. A mountain of shirts, all to be worn with suits; all needing to look good. And over the years I have struggled with pretty nearly all the brand names you'd expect, trying to find one that will make this job easier. All have felt too light - and then broken. Many have felt too fragile - and then broken. Some have had poor steaming - and then broken. Some haven't got hot enough - and then broken.

This Rowneta is pleasingly weighty. It's quite a different shape, with quite a rectangular base giving away suddenly to a very pronounced and effective point. It insists on taking tap water, and deals with the scale itself. It gives good steam. It gets very very hot.

The only slight gripe is what I have come to understand over the years is termed 'glidability.' Other irons I have owned have been more 'glidable' - and then broken.

I'm happy to sacrifice the glidability for the altogether more valuable quality of 'de-creasability'. And on that it scores damn highly: it gets things well and truly ironed.

And it hasn't yet broken.

Sometime ago I bought a reasonably expensive cordless drill. The lock-and-load of slapping on new batteries gave it the illusion of military precision. Bit it was in fact a weapon of mass destruction - of any wall I tried to drill into. It proved utterly incapable of making a simple hole in the walls of our modest Edwardian semi without generating an unacceptable degree of collateral damage. We had a carpenter working on the house recently, and when I asked him why he had no problems at all, he patiently explained to me that cordless drills are fine for wood; but for masonry you have to have the unfaltering power of a corded drill. And a decent set of drill bits.

My manhood suitably reduced by this easy revelation of my DIY naivity, I followed his advice via Amazon. At first I toyed with the professional end of the corded drill market: I'd have paid almost anything to be able to put up a coathook without having to redecorate the entire wall. But the reviews for this drill were so glowing I took a risk.

And my, how life was transformed. I had also bought some highly recommended yet modestly priced masonry drill bits, and together they turned me into a finely tuned drilling machine. No fuss, no mess, no sweat: this is a neat, effective drill that seems able to cope with anything. Even my incompetence.