Sometimes the mother of all inventions should keep her ideas to herself. But it was a slow Sunday morning, so I suggested we should play pretend shop in the front yard with our favourite kids across the road. The smart alec I live with said: “Why don’t you sell real food for real money!” The kids leapt all over him, squealing his praises.

I helped my brood make gingerbread. They created biscuit men with round bellies and stumpy legs modelled on their father. There were biscuit cats and biscuit dogs who crossbred in the oven and came out fused together in awkward positions. The mum over the road wisely kept her three mess-makers out of the kitchen and produced a fat sponge in record time.