I cannot go any further without mentioning my favourite biscuit of all time, now sadly, tragically, extinct. The oaty, crumbly, demerara notes of the long-forgotten Abbey Crunch will remain forever on my lips. I loved the biscuit as much as anything I have ever eaten, and often, in moments of solitude, I still think about its warm, buttery, sugary self.

Almost anything is edible with a dab of French mustard on it.

It must have been the lack of nutrients that gave my father his temper. He is not a sweet man despite a very sweet tooth.

It is impossible not to love someone who makes toast for you....Once the warm, salty butter has hit your tongue, you are smitten. Putty in their hands.

Real food meas big-flavoured, unpretentious cooking. Good ingredients made into something worth eating. Just nice, uncomplicated food.

Pamper a tomato, overfeed it, overwater it and you will get a Paris Hilton of a tomato.

It is impossible not to love someone who makes toast for you.