I don’t eat sweet things, but there are certain treats from my childhood, that just the idea of makes me happy. We spent our summers in Bermuda, where my grandmother stacked the freezer with ice cream sandwiches. There were always Oreos and Entenmann’s chocolate chip cookies on the kitchen counter. Boat rides around the island were never without chocolate brownies, and in the afternoons, after a day on the beach, we ate cinnamon doughnuts straight out of the plastic packet. At home in London, my Mum stocked the kitchen cupboards with enough biscuits to feed every kid on the street (which she very often did). Jaffa cakes and chocolate covered Hobnobs were my favourites. My Auntie P used to come down from North London occasionally with a Betty Crocker marble cake that we absolutely loved. And on Fridays, my Dad’s driver Robert used to pick us up from school and take us straight to Wormly Wheelers where we’d fill a paper bag with Cola bottles and flying saucers. “Tastes and smells of another time,” said my friend Bianca last night as she and Jason tucked into the kid’s ice cream sandwiches. “Such comfort there.”