Father

Posted in response to the challenge by my good bloggy friend Andy (http://andytownend.com/2015/11/02/poetry-101-rehab-father/)  It’s just a bit of a ditty I’m afraid!

I don’t remember laughing
I just remember tears
the shouting and the arguments
the long, estranged, years

As a child you used to tease me
embarrass me and such
you used to think it funny
but I didn’t like it much

You hated all my boyfriends
and you were probably quite right
but you missed out on my milestones
‘cos all we did was fight

We reached an understanding
when my children came along
we’d mellowed in our ageing
and started singing the same song

But then the illness took you
I was there for that at least
and as I watched you as you withered
I was glad we’d made our peace

Reasons to be Cheerful

Well, they were playing this on the radio this morning, and while I was dancing around my bedroom I thought about all the reasons I have to be cheerful on this sunny Monday.  Here is a selection. Not necessarily my top 20 but up there somewhere:

In no particular order…:

  1. my family is healthy
  2. It’s sunny even thought it’s August in England 😉 – we must be due for a storm…
  3. I went to bed later than I should so I’m still sleepy, but I was lucky enough to be able to get a good night’s rest in a comfortable bed with a soft pillow
  4. I had an invigorating shower with as much hot water as I cared to use
  5. Despite ‘never having anything to wear’ I do actually have a huge selection of clean clothes to choose from
  6. I still have my own teeth, and hair
  7. I can still dance – after a fashion 🙂
  8. none of the people I love smoke. This is something I am grateful for every single day (I have very strong opinions on smoking…don’t get me started!)
  9. I have a very daft dog
  10. I’ll be eating vegetables today that I have grown and picked myself
  11. If I didn’t have my own veggies to eat, I could go to the supermarket and buy as many as I like
  12. I have perfume to make me smell nice
  13. Even though I know and appreciate that there are terrible, horrible, disgraceful, unfathomably nasty things going on in the world, I can still listen to jolly music on the radio in the mornings.
  14. I am retired, though I don’t feel old enough to be
  15. I have nice feet, and shoes to put on them
  16. I know how to bake a cake and make wine….really, that’s all you need 🙂
  17. I haven’t seen a spider in my house for several days
  18. I can go out for a spin in Mavis, my new little red car, if I fancy it today
  19. I can count at least five different species of birds in my garden right now… as I type..
  20. I’ll get to have another session learning Japanese today

I’m wondering what your list might look like. I guess that one or two of your’s would match mine, but I’d love to hear what other’s you have. For inspiration here’s Ian Drury and the Blockheads for you:

Have a magical Monday x

Izzy Wizzy Let’s Get Busy!

Since my post yesterday bemoaning my broken Sooty eggcup, it has come to my attention that some of my wordpress friends have not heard of Sooty (stands back in horror…!)  This seems astonishing to me, but then, he has been around in England since before I was born (blimey..I hear you say…), created by Harry Corbett in 1948.  His TV show has been aired since the early fifties.

Sooty is a glove puppet (don’t tell him.. he thinks he’s a teddy bear…) who attempts magic with his magic wand, and is an occasional xylophone player.  Together with his friend Sweep, and the goody-two-shoes panda, Soo, he gets into all sorts of mischief without saying a word – Sadly Sooty is mute. Sweep does squeak, and Soo speaks in an annoying school-marm voice (I never did like Soo). I’ve pinched the show’s catch-phrase for the title of this post – Izzy Wizzy Let’s Get Busy,which was always accompanied by a wave of Sooty’s wand of course.

When Harry Corbett retired in 1976, his son Matthew took over Sooty’s errmmm…glove, and on his retirement in 1998 he found a replacement in Richard Cadell who is still to be found on TV with his puppety friends.  These day’s Sooty is quite modern and even has his own website http://www.thesootyshow.com/

I’ve had fun browsing through some of the old shows to be found on youtube, but think this one pretty much optimises it as I remember it, though as a kid I watched it in black and white.   Simple times….enjoy!

Broken :-(

Posted in response to the Daily Post Weekly Photo Challenge – this week’s theme ‘Broken’

This is my Sooty eggcup.  It was an Easter present, complete with chocolate egg, that I received when I was seven or eight years old – that means that this little eggcup is now getting on for sixty. It got broken like this when we moved house some 22 years ago, and for some reason I didn’t have the heart to throw it away.

I don’t really know why I have kept it so long. It’s like a ghost of my childhood sitting in the kitchen drawer.  I can actually remember getting it, and being quite excited, after all there is nothing quite like a boiled egg and soldiers out of your own Sooty eggcup.  It’s also a reminder of how clumsy and lackadaisical I am –  originally I had the broken off piece and had intended to stick it back together, but of course that never happened and the piece has long since disappeared.

Perhaps, now I have taken photographic evidence of it I should throw the darn thing away. Lets face it,it’s junk and it takes up valuable space in my kitchen drawer.  Will I though??  I’m pretty sure you and I both know the answer….

It’s not my birthday

Seeing double_1It was my daughters’ birthday yesterday.  I always think it should be the parents who should celebrate birthdays, after all, it’s me who remembers it.  In fact I remember it in crisp and clear detail.

I remember being cheered and clapped by the nursing staff as I managed to waddle up the stairs to the operating theatre under my own steam.  I remember being told to curl up into a tight ball and not move as the epidural was given, although curling up into a tight ball and not moving was pretty unachievable given the size of my twin-filled tummy.  I remember the lights, the smell, the team behind the screen that had been put up to stop me seeing the caesarean incision, and my husband beside me, his anxious eyes peering over the top of his surgical mask.

I remember getting the collywobbles in my top half, due, I was told, to the effect of the drugs, and no doubt exacerbated by feeling so excited I could burst.

I remember the first babies cry, and the ‘baby one is a little girl’

‘Helen’ my husband said

Then just two minutes later the second baby’s prostestations ‘Another little girl’

‘Corinne’

I remember when they put them in my still wobbly arms, one at a time because I couldn’t really move what with all the lines attached, and I remember saying ‘Happy Birthday’ to each of them and kissing them on the forehead.

I remember that instant surge of overwhelming love.  I loved the whole world in that moment.  In fact, they were my whole world.

They had to go off to the Special Baby Unit for a couple of days as Corinne just teetered on the edge of acceptable weight (5lb) and they wanted to keep them together.  They were nestled in a single cot like a couple of sardines in a tin.  Tiny knitted bonnets on their tiny blonde heads.

Oh yes, I remember it.  And all the other birthdays and parties.  The naff magician when they were three, the bouncy castle, the bowling party, the big girls disco when they were ten, the marquee at eighteen with drunken boyfriends in attendance (boo drunken boyfriend…you know who you are…).

These days it is rare for us to be together for their birthday, in fact, this year Helen worked a 12 hour shift (although she tells me that one of her colleagues did make her a very nice cake!) and Corinne was at a wedding, so we only just about managed to have a very brief phone call with each of them.

Never mind, we’re planning to celebrate together in June, and maybe I’ll get all the baby pictures out and remind them that, although it’s their birthday, for me, it was the most exciting and wonderful day of my life!

P.S.  Reminiscing brought me to jot this down….

box hill Sepia

I remember two small girls
skipping along the hill
in the summer of their
cherry cheeked childhood

studying sticks and stones
amongst red-gold leaves
whilst clouds cast faint shadows
foretelling futures
of long-legged beauty.

Then, in the chill of evening sun
Tramping down the slope,
homeward
for warm-up tea and
chocolate cake comfort.

Ephemeral – a moment of my life

Posted in response to the Daily Post weekly photo challenge. This weeks theme ‘Ephemeral’

Ephemeral – lasting a very short time.

It took me six years of hard slog study to achieve my Open University degree at the age of 58. To say I was chuffed to have passed would be the understatement of the century. I know, I know, most people manage to get theirs in their early twenties, but better late than never eh?

Anyhoo, you may be wondering why I’ve been rambling about that as something ‘ephemeral’, when clearly the process was quite the opposite. Well… just like any other graduates, OU students are presented with their qualifications at a big glittery award.  The ceremony I attended was at the famous Barbican Centre in London.  My husband and daughters had come along to watch and be proud, and I was beyond excited.  The event itself took a couple of hours, but prior to it, there was the thrill of getting my robe fitted (disappointingly the OU students don’t get to wear mortar boards though) and getting formal pictures taken. Then the nervous wait for my turn.

I’m sure most of you will know that these ceremonies are basically a long procession of students walking across the stage, shaking hands, taking their awards and walking off again. It’s like watching paint dry when it’s not one of your own.  However, when it’s your turn, or the turn of someone you love, it really is a top couple of minutes.

I remember it exactly.  The tip tap of my shoes on the polished wood, the clapping and cheering from the audience (they managed to keep it up for every single person), the brief exchange of words, and the exit, all of which I managed without falling over or generally making a fool of myself (and there were stairs, I hope you’re impressed!) It was indeed a very fleeting moment in the scheme of things, but one which meant so much and has made an indelible imprint on my mind.

P1010085

Yes, that’s me!!

How to catch a mouse….gently

Just lately we have had a bit of an invasion or tiny furry friends, which I wouldn’t mind too much, but they are inclined to eat my vegetables (these ones seem particularly partial to sweet potatoes) and electrical wires. They don’t seem to be tremendously toilet trained either…

I’m not one for killing creatures of any sort (nope, not even spiders) and fortunately neither was my dad.  It was him who taught me this humane method of catching mice-es.  I can remember him bringing one of the successful ‘traps’ up to my bedroom when I was quite young to show me the cutest tiny field mouse running around inside.

I believe (never say never) that I have caught all of the current army.. my record was four in one day… and now we seem to be tiny visitor free.  However, I would say that once caught you do need to take them as far away as possible to release them, otherwise they are liable to return to the warm haven of your home.  This was confirmed when one of our teeny friends damaged his tail and we were able to identify him from that twice more.  I think he was a bit gullible!!

Anyhoo…. for those who are as soft as I am, here is my pretty foolproof method for the gentle capture of a mouse:

You will need:

A heavyish bowl

A piece of board – I use an old chopping board

A penny or equivalent coin

Flour and water paste

Chocolate biscuits

Method:

Spread a thick flour and water paste on to the back of a piece of chocolate biscuitDSC_0784

Stick the biscuit fairly high up on the side of the bowl – enough so a mouse needs to reach up and tug to get at it!DSC_0783

Turn the bowl upside down on the piece of board and balance the edge underneath the piece of biscuit on the penny. This is a little tricky but you will win with a bit of patience!DSC_0787

The mouse will be able to get in to the bowl without knocking the penny over, but will disturb it as soon as he tries to get at the biscuit and hey presto…..IMG_1153You can then lift the board together with the mouse in the bowl and carry both outside where you can watch your unharmed furry friend scurry safely away!

Five day challenge, Day 2 – Twirling

Day 2 of my five day challenge courtesy of Scillagrace.  A short story this time. I’m afraid it’s another one that’s emerged from my dark imagination – sorry mum!  To be honest, I’ve no idea where this came from, I’ve never taken drugs or even smoked.  I did a bit of research to check for accuracy, but if I’ve misunderstood any of the details please forgive me.

Twirling

DSC_0282

Once again, I’ve arrived home to find my one and only child in a drug induced sleep.  I know its drug induced, the empty syringe is on the coffee table, next to the brown stained coffee cup with its dregs of dark, almost black brew.  The tv is on, some reality programme or other, prattling away in the corner.  Giggling to itself while my daughter shoots up.

I found out about her habit about seven months ago.  One of her friends had practically carried her home to tell me that Jade had ‘taken something’.  I took her in and sat by her side all night afraid she might go deeper and not return from that unnatural sleep.  But she did, and in the morning I made her drink the strong coffee she is now so fond of, and we had ‘a talk’.

‘Have you gone completely mad? You’ll kill yourself taking this stuff.’

‘Oh for goodness sake mum, it’s only the odd tablet, it’s not like I’m a druggy or anything.’

She said she was sorry, she wouldn’t do it again.  She said the words loudly and clearly, but she didn’t mean them.  The following week, I found a plastic packet of coloured pills in her room.

I’d never taken drugs.  Never smoked, had always been afraid of the consequences.  But Jade hadn’t seemed to have had consequences.  After that morning, she was bright as a button.  And chirpy.  So chirpy and happy it made me almost glad that she’d taken something.  Recently she had been miserable and difficult.   But apparently now she had met a boy.

‘He’s gorgeous mum, really cool.’ Cool was her favourite word, she used it to describe anything she’d taken a fancy to from a new dress, to chocolate ice cream, and apparently, good looks.

When he turned up at the door, I couldn’t quite see the attraction though.  OK, he had a nice head of dyed blond hair, but he was scrawny and his eyes were dull, and when he politely shook my hand, his skin felt damp and cold.

‘lo missus Payne’ he drawled, bearing his less than white, less than even teeth.

It’s fair to say I took a dislike to him.  The thought of him and my little Jade in any sort of embrace made me feel nauseous.  But nonetheless I drew him into the house, and welcomed him as Jade’s friend, like all good mothers would.

It was him, that Darren, that had introduced my baby to his dirty, smoky world.

It was a couple of days after that first meeting that on opening our front door, I was whisked back in time to my uni days. The pungent smell of what my mother always referred to as ‘wacky backy’, was thick in the house.  The two of them were sitting wrapped around each other on the sofa ostensibly watching Pointless.  Darren held a still smoking spliff between his first finger and thumb and acknowledged me with an almost imperceptible wave of it.

‘hi mum’ Jade slurred and gurned a sloppy grin towards me.

‘For god’s sake, what do you think you’re doing’ I’d had a hard old day at the office, and didn’t have the energy to ask in anything other than a resigned voice.

‘blimey missus Payne, you’se lookin’ right frazzled, you should have a pull’ and he thrust the damp papered roll-up towards me.

For some reason my eyes started welling with tears.  Recently work had been getting me down. There was what HR referred to as a ‘personality clash’ between me and the new manager, and I had been working all the hours god sends to try to meet her ridiculously over-optimistic deadlines.

And all the while, I’d been worrying about Jade.  The arguments with her had escalated and she wasn’t eating properly. I knew she hadn’t been turning up at school.  Her GCSE’s were fast approaching and she needed to get herself clean and sorted out.  Anything I said was ineffectual and usually only led to the slamming of doors and that sickly smell.

I felt alone and lonely.

And here she was, out of it again, with this boy, Darren, offering me a way, albeit brief, of escaping from the black tunnel of my life.

I took it from him, and took a deep drag like I’d seen them do.  I coughed and spluttered, felt like I was going to choke.

Then I laughed.  A big full throttle laugh.  Darren and Jade were sitting up, grinning at me, while I laughed, and laughed.  All the tension, all the hate and misery, was released with that laugh.

Another drag, and a warm glow came over me, the sort I hadn’t felt in years.  I plonked myself down on the armchair and just sat.  Sat and watched them wrapped together. His hand was propping up his heavy head and squishing his face in a babylike way.  A swatch of hair had fallen over his left eye and I had the urge to get up and gently move it away.  Suddenly I wanted to kiss him, this boy, this boyfriend of my daughter’s.   I imagined a dry, soft, lingering lip kiss.  My addled mind started playing erotic games.

Jade had nodded off.  Her thick black mascara was smudged over her face from her tears of laughter.  Her dyed black hair looked matted and dry and nothing like the ‘ginger biscuit’ curls I remember her having as a child.

She was a pretty baby.  Not beautiful, pretty.  Quite petite, scrawny even, but with huge green eyes, which a nurse once told me she needed to ‘grow into’.  And as she got older and her face grew more character, I began to understand what that nurse had meant.  Before all this, before the drugs, she had been what might have been termed ‘interesting’ to look at.  She still had those green eyes, but her full lips and wide nose balanced them out.  At five foot five, she looked heavier than she should for her weight, but not really fat, more ‘big boned’.

It was her father’s build.  He was a huge man. Shiny smooth skin, black as a moonless night, and big hands that held me in their clutch for just a few short nights.  I’d lost him before I even knew I was pregnant.  I’ve been on my own ever since.

I’ve not really needed anyone.  I had a good job that fitted around school ok, and Jade and I were always a bit of a two-man team.  She was always able to bolster me up whenever I might feel in need of solace.  I had one or two ‘friends’ but nothing that came to much.  I was always too busy, too involved in Jade and her life.

Now, here I was, taking a full leap into her life.  Her seedy downtrodden life, that I have so spurned and railed against.

I was still staring at them when the boy turned and winked at me.  It was a full-on ‘I know what you’re thinking’ wink that jolted me out of the smokey stupor I had fallen into.

‘tea?’ my legs wobbled slightly as I stood up.

‘ta! Oi, Jay, want tea?’ he shook her shoulder ‘she’ll ‘ave coffee’

In the kitchen, I ran cold water on my wrists, a trick my mother had taught me for when I wanted to freshen up quickly.

‘on your pulse, it cools the blood then, see’ she said holding my nine year old arms under the garden tap.  It had been a hot day and I’d fainted.  Out cold.  She’d not been worried, she’d said

‘runs in the family does swooning.  Your nan used to do it all the time.  And me, on the tube.  So embarrassing.  Mind you, gets you a seat’ and she tittered to herself all unconcerned.  The water had worked and I’d felt fine in no time, and ever since I had headed for a tap, wrists bared, whenever I was feeling hot, or overcome for any reason.

I dried myself on a grubby tea towel and filled the kettle.  I felt quite good.  Relaxed.  My stomach gave a gurgle to remind me I hadn’t eaten. Thinking it must be time for dinner, I noticed the clock and was stupefied to find out it was past 10:30.  Where had the evening gone?  Had I slept? Did the other’s realise the time?

Jade was sitting up, pulling her hair back into a loose bun when I took the tea into the living room.

‘Mum, I can’t believe you actually took a pull!  After all that nagging and yelling.  Bet you feel better now’

I ignored her smug remark

‘Do you know its half past ten?  Do you want something to eat?

‘We’re all right.  We’re off now.  Going to Spangles, could do with a bit of a boogie’ she said wiggling her hips towards Darren, and grinning.

Minutes later they were gone and I was sitting down alone to a flimsy, hastily defrosted, pizza.  I nodded off in front of the tv, before deciding to go to bed at around midnight.  Jade wasn’t back, and I didn’t really expect her any time soon.  She often didn’t get home until the early hours after she’d been to the local nightclub.  Spangles shut at two, so I wasn’t quite sure where she went to afterwards, but I guessed it was somewhere pretty unsavoury, and I worried about her.  She always said she was with friends.  That they were all ‘lovely’ and ‘you’d like them’.  But I knew that in her drugged state she couldn’t discriminate between depravity and normality.

I lay awake for some time, tossing and turning, thinking dark thoughts.  At around 3:00 I got up and got a tumbler of water and sat in bed sipping and looking at the clock.  I don’t know why exactly, but for some reason I felt the need to go into her room, touch her things, feel the presence of my little girl.

Her room was next door to mine, and I didn’t turn the hall light on.  I knew the way to her bedside instinctively, from all those years of soothing her ever present night terrors.  I sat on the side of her bed, just as if she was there, and switched the bed side light on.

The room smelt strongly of incense, and there was a streak of ash from a recently burnt stick on the bedside table.  Her room was still girly though, and there were still her old much loved toys on the shelf.  Her Barbie dressed in her airhostess outfit, but with crayon-pinked wayward hair, and Gurgle her toy frog that used to go everywhere with her, both looking down disapprovingly from the shelf.

I was crying.  I needed to hold someone.  I was so alone and needed someone, anyone.  I reached up for Gurgle.  The soft bright green toy was grubby and the bow around his neck skewed, but I hugged him close to smell the residue of childhood on him.

But he wasn’t as soft as I was expecting.  As I hugged him I felt his tummy had a hard patch.  I put him under the light and could see that there was a gap in his stitching.  I stuck my finger in and sure enough could feel a small package inside.  I hardly needed to bother to withdraw it I could tell from the feel that it was more pills.  Tipping them into my hand I could see there were about 10 of them, all different colours and sizes with letters imprinted on them.

I sat staring at them.  They felt heavy in my hand, as if they were making a permanent mark. I guess I wasn’t entirely surprised, or even shocked.  Sighing, I poured them back into the little plastic bag, but doing so managed to drop one on the floor.  I picked it up.  It was baby blue and had ‘SKY’ imprinted on it.  It looked nothing more than a sweet, but despite knowing exactly what it was, I popped it into my mouth.  If she could escape to ecstasy then so could I.

I gently placed Gurgle back in his usual position, turned off the light and went back to my own room.  It seemed bigger than usual, and I twirled around to experience the space.  The air itself seemed golden and I held my hands out to catch it.  I longed to touch it, feel its constituents.  I knew I was smiling, the spinning turned into swaying and I found myself humming.  The sound I produced was wonderful.  It filled my body, echoing through my very veins.  I could see the walls of the room pulsing in time to my rhythm.  I was enchanted by this new feeling, calm and peaceful in this lyrical world.

At some point I must have lay down as I woke late the next morning lying across the bed, holding the duvet haphazardly across me.  I felt good.  No headachy hangover like I do when I overindulge in wine, no nausea as when I comfort eat a whole tub of ice cream.

That was a while ago.  I have stolen from Jade ever since.  She steals my money, I steal her drugs.  I don’t think she is even aware some go missing.  Or that I sometimes leave extra money in my purse especially for her to steal.  It won’t be going on much longer though, the money won’t be there.  I lost my job today.

My work has suffered apparently.  I have been in a bit late a few times, and had a few days off here and there I guess but is that really any reason to turn on me? That pig of a woman actually accused me of ‘letting myself go’?

‘It’s a matter of personal hygiene’ she’s said sniffily ‘Please understand, it’s just that we’re worried about you’  Frankly, I couldn’t even be bothered to respond, so she just carried on ‘Worried about your health, your so…so unkempt these days’ Then she smiled, that tight, thin-lipped, condescending smile of hers.

Well, they could stuff their job. Frankly, I don’t care about their bourgeois opinions.  They can keep their small dark corner of the world.

So I come in and find Jade on the sofa.  She is unkempt and unwashed.  The flat is unkempt and uncleaned.  I no longer care.  I go to my room and twirl.

What is that stuff?

Every now and then my husband and I (ooh hark at me sounding like the Queen) take ourselves off for a ‘date lunch’.  We like food, and it is good to spend a bit of quality time together now and then, so we find ourselves somewhere nice to go and pig out (it may be a date lunch, but we don’t stand on ceremony… well, we’ve been together for over thirty years now so we should just about be used to each other’s sloppy eating habits).   Yesterday we ended up in a really cosy pub, the log fires being just what we needed after being out in the gale force winds and unseasonal blizzard that suddenly appeared from nowhere.

All the food was yummy, as was the real Ale that we washed it down with, but what stood out for me was the chips.

Now, I’m not usually a big fan of chips.  They can be a bit soggy, or in French fry form, a bit burnt and over crispy.  I don’t have them often, but when I do, I drown them in salt and vinegar to give them some flavour, or if I’m feeling fancy, a bit of mayo a la Francais way.  I’m not a big fan of tommy k (tomato ketchup to you), so never that big red blob on my plate thanks.  Yesterday’s chips didn’t need anything though, they came ready seasoned and really crispy on the outside and soft in the middle (like an Armadillo as we say in our house…don’t ask… there was an advert once I think), 10 out of 10 for the chips then!

Of course, we ended up discussing what constitutes a ‘proper’ chip.  Do french fries count??

Anyhoo, what with the chips/French fry debate an’ all, it got me thinking about foods that aren’t like what their supposed to be, and how sometimes they are really yummy despite being completely weird and unrecognisable.  Like these goodies:

  • Tinned strawberries – now I don’t know what they were in a past life, but they look and taste nothing like the real thing. They are pink, sploshy and sweet.  Sometimes, I confess, I think they might be better than a freshly picked one that makes your mouth purse like a cat’s bottom because it’s a bit hard and tart or worse still, completely tasteless.
  • Pot noodles – does anyone know what that stuff is made from? Oh, I know what it says on the label – dried veggies and meat, but really? Nevertheless, who doesn’t love a naughty pot noodle from time to time? They are slurpily scrummy.
  • Vesta Chow Mein – I guess this is along the same lines as a Pot Noodle, being some sort of dried stuff with noodley thingys. But this is more of a meal. It’s crispy noodles a delight of crunchy oiliness, and it’s soft noodles, covered with the other…well, stuff, is again, a slurpers heaven.  Love it!
  • Crab Sticks – They are very pink. They are sticks.  They are not made of crab. I could eat ten of them in one sitting.  What more do you need to know?
  • Spam – Another pink food! Jellified meat that comes in a tin.  Sounds delicious doesn’t it? Spam is apparently ‘pressed pork and ham’, it tastes neither like pork nor ham, it tastes like Spam. It is amazingly versatile, in our house we have spam hash, spam kebabs, grilled spam, spam fritters, spam sandwiches…  I am a Spam fan. Many are not.
  • McDonalds fruit pies – Peculiar sort of sugary pastry stuff containing killer goo that will take the skin off your mouth and tongue unless you leave it for at least two hours to cool down. I think they are related to pop tarts. Yep, still good!
  • Cadbury’s Crème Eggs – Yes, it’s the time of year when all our thoughts turn to how many of these little devils we can stuff in our gobs before Easter. Hooray!! Chocolate ‘eggs’ filled with errmm…what is that stuff…?

These are just a few examples, off the top of my head, of weird yet wonderful foodstuffs that are filled with e-numbers and calories to start you salivating. I’m quite sure there are many more (I bet I think of them as soon as I press the post button!). I’d love to hear your favourites!