Columnist Alun Newman: 'We had order in our disorder, now it's chaos!'

When I say without you, I mean you no longer need to give it any conscious thought. It slips into an out-of-awareness autopilot that somehow gets permission to act without actually asking.

Most drivers have experienced this moment when they arrive at a familiar destination and realise they can’t fully remember the journey.

Yet when someone is first learning to drive, even the idea of changing gear while slowing down, never mind adding mirror, signal, manoeuvre, feels almost impossible. Within months though, they’re cruising along like seasoned pros.

The brain also decides what it chooses to remember, again without asking. So much information comes flooding in that it filters what’s relevant and what gets tossed into the recycle bin.

If it isn’t sure, it may even reappear later in a dream as your mind tries to sort out the finer details. I have a terrible memory - I couldn’t tell you my own mobile number.

I didn’t even know my old PIN as numbers but as a pattern my fingers had memorised. That was until a holiday in France when I locked us out of our account because their ATM pin pad layout was different.

Still, I like the idea that my brain is aware of all this and, instead of punishing me with guilt, simply steps in and says, ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got you.’

One of the places the brain works most seamlessly on autopilot is the kitchen. I go straight to the cupboard for mugs. Easy. Spices? No hesitation. Salad bowls? I know exactly where and which size I’m reaching for.

That was until last weekend. For reasons I’m frankly too scared to uncover, my wife decided to rearrange the entire kitchen. This included throwing out unused gadgets and heavily expired food. Now, I pride myself on being someone who encourages others to take responsibility for their ideas. I’m an empowerer after all, but I swear this change is driving me round the bend.

For the last 400 years (give or take), the spices have always lived beneath the tins. Plates? Comfortably next to the dishwasher. The Kenwood mixer? Wedged deep in a cupboard with other rarely-used items. There was order in our disorder. Now? It’s chaos disguised as organisation.

To be fair, when finished, I was given the courtesy of a guided tour. Sonia walked me through the new system with explanations and justifications for every single change. It wasn’t a Disneyland experience, it was more like the governor of a prison proudly showing a lifer his stamp collection.

I did my best, I showed interest, asked questions, and made suitably impressed noises at how sparkling everything looked.

I didn’t even protest when she gave away the ice-cream maker that we’ve never used but I still feel we might. And yet, could someone please tell my stubborn brain things have changed? Because if I reach one more time for a dinner plate only to find serving bowls staring back at me, I might actually scream. Quietly. In my head. Right where my brain insists on doing its own thing.