That’s not a euphemism, I’m deadly serious. There’s an emergency in the crummy mummy household: the biscuit tin is failing in its one sole task of keeping the biscuits fresh. Within days of opening a new packet the ginger snaps are soft and the fig rolls are flaccid, despite a satisfactory sounding ‘click’ when opened and closed. After a thorough inspection of the lid, which is pierced with lots of little holes I’ve always assumed are necessary for freshness, I can’t figure it out. Misery Guts says there’s probably rubber on the other side of the holes and something has perished, resulting in stalegate – is he right? I have absolutely no idea. The thing is I don’t want to just replace the tin with a new one because it was a wedding present from a school friend (I can’t tell you the number of kitchen utensils now forever associated with old friends). And it might only be four years old, but we’ve got history: I dipped into it for ginger snaps in a bid to relieve morning sickness, I feasted on fig rolls when possessed with breast-feeding induced roaring hunger and it’s where BB now carefully selects her chocolate covered malted milks between finger and thumb. […]