Our campaign to restore milk-based desserts to their rightful place on the nation’s tables (Think Sexy, Not Slimy!) received a fillip from England’s footballers who turned in a slightly better than usual performance last week following a diet that consisted entirely of rice pudding (presumably on the basis that you can’t trust funny foreign muck). It took me back to my schooldays and the force-feeding of tapioca prior to lacrosse matches by our sadistic games master Mr Talbot (“Are we ready for a nice cold shower, ladies?”).

Even further back in my culinary history is the shortly to be defunct Porkinson sausage, following a couple of which, at a barbecue, I was apparently conceived. (Nutmeg aways had a funny effect on Daddy.) Kerry Foods marketed the Porkinson on the basis that it was marginally less awful than the other bangers they produce, but I still don’t get why anyone would get frisky after a Richmond emulsified high-fat offal tube. Bang up to date, I do agree with Sainsbury’s theory that women increasingly prefer bottled ale to lager. I’d much rather get my lips round a Cocker Hoop (for example) than something thin and pale.

A number of our clients have June year-ends - just the sort of excuse that Karoline (with a K) needs to get on the phone and see if they have any spare budget that needs spending (or even better, salting away) before deadline. Our accounts team is on hand throughout this exercise, ready at a moment’s notice to produce invoices with any wording or date on them as required. This little client/agency conspiracy is even more beneficial if the client forgets about the parked cash. K’s new kitchen and some outrageous Christmas parties have been the most obvious results.