Worldwide fans will have noted the venture in my last post, “World of Sport”, into the comforting realm of nostalgia.  As I am a bit loathe to hand back the blanket I submit this offering on “tuffees”.

When I was a nipper the weekend’s evenings were an orgy of sugar and telly.  On Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights me and our Linda would accompany my dad to the beer-off to help relieve his pockets in exchange for armfuls of sweets – “tuffees" they were in Nottingham although I’ve come to learn they’re called “spice” in Barnsley.  My dad was never a drinker – a half of bitter would last him all night – but he had a weakness for sweets.  Chocolate eclairs, I seem to remember, were his favourite.

So out we’d troop to the offie to load up with 2 or 3 bars each of future dentistry and heart attack, which would last me and our Linda no longer than Batman.

But that memory got me thinking of absent friends; not those who had undergone an identity crisis such as Marathons and Opal Fruits, but genuine casualties of ceased production.  “Spangles” would be on everyone’s lips but Nux and Bar Six would be less obvious.  An occasional quiz question is to name the Five Fry’s Boys.  Without Google I’d have a stab at Expectation and Anticipation among the proper ones although as pre-pubescent boys we added Masturbation and Ejaculation.

Some still survive but as shrivelled cadavers of their former selves such as Mars Bars and Wagon Wheels; and even Black Jacks have lost a little of their magic now they’re no longer 4 for 1d.

So off the top of my napper that’s it.  Any further recollections will be gratefully received.