My friend’s nine year old asked her the other day what the point of life was if we’re all going to die. I think they were in the car when he tossed out this poignant gem. Just for the record, if my son ever comes out with a statement like this I'm pretty sure I'll wreck the car. I suppose my first response would’ve been – well, son, to stay alive as long as humanly possible. I think that’s as good of an answer as any. Or in kid terms, to play your giant lifelong Nintendo DS until the battery goes dead.

This age old question has always begged thought, although as far as I know no one has come up with a concrete answer - or at least agreed upon one. So how does one define it, especially to a child? Find something rewarding and purposeful you like doing and do it well? I suppose that works up to a point, although serial killers could say they are doing something they find rewarding and purposeful, which proves a tad problematic. So how about, find something you like doing and do it well that doesn’t harm others or result in incarceration.

Or is the point of life about procreating and leaving a legacy in the form of children – [and then let them deal with how to answer the question on their own!] Then again, some people’s spawn – i.e. Jeffrey Dahmer, Charles Manson, Mugabe etc are nothing to get excited about. In fact, I’d distance myself from my kid right quick if he started eating people. Sorry, but my mother’s love has definite boundaries.

Then again, to make matters easy for the rest of us trying to define it, I say throw it back on the individual to define for him or herself. “What’s the meaning of life? I don’t know, whatever you think it is.” Done. Solved.

On the contrary, many have said that this whole quest of defining life’s meaning is futile, and in fact, life is just that, meaningless. Instead it is about going through the motions of the journey until one reaches the end. And the point, well there isn’t one. Uplifting isn't it. A bit like making one’s bed in the morning.  There is no discernable point especially as you’re going to get back into it at night. Then again, it does make the room look nice, and there is something about getting into a made bed at night that just feels right. What is the point of all this? I suppose there isn’t a point aside from it’s just something we do. We roll that bolder up the hill to watch it roll back down again, and so on. I mean just watching the news makes me wonder what it’s all about. People are dying in the most horrific and devastating ways, i.e. a fifth of Pakistan is currently under water -- a fifth!! - And yet Paris Hilton keeps releasing perfume fragrances. Sorry, but I just can’t find the meaning in that one.

Then again, maybe we’ve all got it wrong – or at least I do, as I’m the only one weighing in at the moment. Maybe life’s meaning can only be found wandering the earth with no possessions as one chants and helps to feed the tired and the hungry.

As you can see, I haven’t a clue how to answer this question. In fact, now all I have done is given myself a headache.

There is an article in a paper over here that discusses the merits of separate bedrooms to perk up one’s love life. [Seems like a bit of an oxymoron as one would think their partner would need to be in the same room to do this, no??]; Who are they kidding, it's not for better sex! Apparently more and more couples are doing the separate room thing in hopes of finally getting a good night's rest. Too right to that! (Although the King is making any sleep impossible at the moment). Honestly, outside of TV shows, I don’t think any couple out there sleeps the entire night in each other’s arms. In fact, they say that couples that sleep together suffer sleep disturbances for at least 50% of the night due to snoring, tossing and turning, trips to the bathroom etc.

My partner and I sleep cuddled up for about two minutes, and then we separate to our corners of the mattress where our bed quickly descends into a war zone. Cause despite what my partner professes, he does not stay on his side. He either sleeps smack dab in the middle, on his back with his limbs stretched out like a corpse (I have documented proof of this) or he comes all the way over on my side, pushes me to the very edge of the mattress and then swings one of his 100 pound muscle legs on top of me causing serious bodily harm. I have bruises to prove it. Then there is the talking; or shall we say, the shouting. Occasionally it becomes like an episode of 24 in our bedroom; my man is a big fan and I’m thinking fancies himself as Jack Bauer when he’s asleep. He’s been known to bolt straight up and start shouting orders to ‘duck and cover’ or issues some escape route or attack plan, most of which I cannot make heads or tails of. Of course as he does this, my heart bursts through my chest like a hand grenade and it takes me twenty minutes to calm down again.  Then of course there is the 3 a.m. trip to the kitchen for god knows what, that usually ends up sitting on his bedside table in the morning. The other night it was a can of corn. Seriously?? Corn?

This separate room thing is starting to sound very attractive.

Apparently, married couples began sharing a bed in Tudor times. Before that it was only something the poor did due to lack of space - this reasoning still makes perfect sense when it comes to modern day city living. Our flat doesn't even closets let alone separate wings for he and I. Researchers also say that when couples do separate, they argue less cause they sleep better; their falling asleep rituals can be carried out, i.e. one can stay up reading, whilst the other goes to bed early; and when it comes to getting frisky, the tiptoe trip down the hall makes couples feel like ‘naughty teenagers.’ I’m not sure about that, but a good night’s sleep without risk of being injured does sound appealing. Not to mention, how Mr. and Mrs. Brady;  'hi lovebug, your boudoir or mine.' A further fascinating tidbit is according to those in the know, we are apparently the only species that equates sex with being in bed, then falling asleep. Exactly, why hinder ourselves to one room, there is a whole house to make use of. How extremely short sighted of us.

Saying all this, as irony would have it, when my man is away and the bed is all mine, I can’t sleep. Figures.

They’ve just released the first aphrodisiac coffee here in the UK. They really will not stop before they try to invent just about anything. It apparently has some rare Indian coffee bean in it with the essence of oyster. Gosh. That sounds just delicious. The kicker, it costs 39 pounds for a 100gram package. [Apparently all the proceeds are going to cancer research]. I’m thinking for that price, this beverage better shave five years off my face and reduce my waistline to a 26. Yes, I’m a demanding woman, but these are tough economic times, I want my money working for me.

I suppose my first question is why? Do we need a coffee that apparently makes us want to get our groove on? My aim for the morning is to have a cup of coffee to a) wake up and b) get things going. And I DON’T mean cue the porn music and get out the satin sheets (I don’t own either, it just sounded good). I have more important matters on my hands like trying to figure out how to clean the house, take a shower and get dressed in four minutes flat without the 'King' screaming the house down.

My other worry is coffee is a social drink served just about everywhere one goes. Something tells me that people do not want their coffee to be that social. In fact, most people when dating use ‘meeting for a coffee’ as a safe alternative to having to sit with someone they barely know for an entire dinner. The last thing we need is the coffee making this freak you met off the internet suddenly think he's Johnny Depp with no inhibitions. Not to mention, Starbucks is a minefield of germs and chaos as it is, let alone having some horny man stroke my leg cause his triple venti makes him want to bust out the Barry White albums. In fairness, Starbucks did not invent this wonder drink, De Longhi did. But I’m sure it’s only a question of time until they come up with something similar. I can hear the barista now,“Do you want cream whip on your Triple Cocoa Pump up the jam Viagra Frappucino?”

What about dinner parties, could you imagine the uncomfortable situations ensuing after the quiche has been served. The neighbor’s husband suddenly gives you the eye, your husband starts rubbing your neck, and all your trying to do is serve the dessert without getting chocolate on your white tablecloth. I don’t need any more complications in my life!

Now, saying all this, I’m thinking this hysterical product works about as well as…well, oysters. I’ve never eaten a plate of oysters in my life and then felt the need to jump my boyfriend. In fact, most of the time I’m thinking, god these are good but please don’t let me die from some strange bacteria living in my mollusk. In my defense I have a sensitive stomach.

Come to think of it, this morning, I think I'll have tea.

Do you ever notice in the music business when someone’s career is on the wane they release a country album. And the funniest part is every time an artist does this, they always release some quote in their PR release that says that country music was always in their roots, or heart…or intestinal tract. Something to the effect that, despite clawing at the back of pop and rock for years, country music was always their true calling. Funny that. The latest to do so is Josh Kelley – I don’t know who he is either. He is married to someone famous and has now decided that country music is his destiny. Jessica Simpson also went down this path, not successfully unfortunately for her, as did Jewel – although she always smacked of country anyway.

I’m not sure what this says about country fans, or moreover, people’s perceptions of country fans…'Don’t worry, country fans will listen to just about anything? Or country fans don’t care if you came from guitar riffs and ripping the heads off bats, if you sing about heartbreak in a truck, they’re down with it!' 

For shame! I think good ol’ country fans see through all this b*llsh*t and aren’t being so willing to let just anybody through the gate anymore. Saying this, it is a known fact that country fans are the most loyal of any fan base out there. Something I’ve always liked about the genre, being a loyalist myself. I must admit however, it took me a long time to get on board with country music. And don’t get me wrong, I’m still very selective. I think I’m more of a watered down country listener, or extremely discriminatory. If there are too many references to trailers, honky tonk, or Jesus, you’re going to lose me. I’m sure in the eyes of the true country fan, my appreciation for pop-infused country is utter blasphemy. But shucks, at least I’m trying.

My sister and I used to listen to Kenny Rogers when we were little and had The Gambler on heavy rotation on our eight-track player (yes I’m that old). I think we loved it so much cause it told a story as most country songs tend to do. The best ones of course end in someone telling someone else to shove it! Then of course there was the uber ebullient Dolly Parton. I challenge you to not love Dolly Parton. Anyone that giggles like that, has their own amusement park and is that open about the fact that their chest is inflated to the size of watermelons is one fun chick. In the last decade or so, I think it was when I saw the Dixie Chicks sing live, it was ‘Earl had to do die,’ or something like that -  I was won over once again.  Let’s be honest, Natalie Maines can not only sing, but anyone that tells the President to shove it and refuses to back down even after receiving death threats garners my admiration.

The thing about country music, love it or hate it, the artists and fans alike just seem like they’re having more fun than everyone else. I’m not sure if it’s the laid back lifestyle they promote in their songs coupled with the rebellious attitude set to strings and beer, but there is something that appeals to my inner party girl. Not only that, but unlike let’s say pop music where everyone gives off the impression that they’re trying very hard to be this or that – these days, it’s ‘I’m a bad ass dirty whore that blasphemes everything in the name of art, or I’m so street it hurts' -  country musicians ooze country and aren't trying to be anything other than that. In fact, one gets the distinct impression they go to bed with their boots on and floss with hay. And in this day and age, where so many artists seem unsure of who they hell they are, that's impressive.

Then again, I’ve always had country music deep in my gall bladder.