Gets to a certain time, late evening, and assuming it's a school day, all's quiet in the house. Apart from l'il ol' me in the kitchen, sprung to life with domestic obligations: load the dishwasher scientifically, refill the rinse aid, (a) locate and (b) unload lunchboxes, plonk down some wet food for the cat (ah!), lock the back door. All while catching a bit of Five Live or The Bugle or Kermode or The Word podcast.

Chores chored, what's my reward? Hot cuppa, dur, with a choccy digestive, or kids' unfinished Rocky, or piece of toast. Or maybe a Fluff sandwich?

And there was fluff
I never thought there could be so much fluff
There was handfuls of the stuff
— Wreckless Eric, 33s & 45s

Not dusty mitey spiderwebby fluff. That'd be horrid. No, being me, this is marshmallow fluff, naturally enough. Sis had brought me back a jar from the US a while back, then a friend presented me with the same from, I think, Harrods food hall -- posh fluff.

Blurb recommends having it on "toast, scones or teacakes as part of a balanced breakfast." P'raps with a big bowl of Special K on the side? Since my body's a temple, I'm hugely relieved that there's "no artificial preservatives", and I make sure to only spread it on Kingsmill 50/50 for that whole grain goodness. Such a snack is roughly equivalent to chopped-up banana in low-fat yoghurt with a sprinkling of blueberries. Or so I tell myself.

Won't be long now until the likes of Jamie or Hugh pick up on it and start telling the world (or a group of American schoolkids) about this new superfood. Unless Delia gets there first, and there's a seasonal run on the stuff. Fluff -- it's all good. Not half.