Fucking tasty! This is one fruity mother on the nose. Not a single mother either, this mum's got many kids! Cherries are screaming for attention, morello maybe, glacé potentially, cliched? Probably... Apricots are squabbling with the ripe bananas while the fruit salad looks on in horror at the remains of the raspberry dripping off the blades of a blender. You can almost literally smell the unmistakable smell of the brains of one of the caifornian raisins from the adverts being killed on a battlefield, you know? But that's not all, a burnt sugar theme tempers the fruit, muscovado maybe with a sophistication of licorice? This smell is a mustardy, musty, long neglected yet populated attic belonging to a girl we reckon (you can detect the smell of perfume from an old box of clothes.

Pudding, that's all we can say. On the taste images flash by, a bakewell tart, sticky toffee pudding, syrup sponge pudding, smothered in crème patissière and treacle! Shameless shameless treacle treacle copy copy coffee (with a werther's original balanced on the side)! Salty, that's all we can say. Salted licorice and caramac salutes the puddings but salted popcorn leads us towards a mild chili taste, with the sharpness of radishes and yet again the sophistication of a club sandwich with a slice of smoked salmon sitting on top. Children's laughter, that's all we can say. The word "quack", that's all we can say.