Breakfast for me is toast. Lashings of butter. (I always worry I might die of butter poisoning, but still.) Jam like it’s going out of fashion. Which it isn’t, apparently. I checked. And a mug of coffee so large it has its own postcode.

But cereals? No. Just no.

I consulted my Almanac of Acceptable Foods. No cereals listed. You should get yourself an Almanac. There are many. But this one’s laminated and comes with a stern look.

Page 100, Biscuit Consumption: Custard Creams before anything else. Bourbons are acceptable under duress.

I’ve tried cereals: Flaky Corn (lies about both the flakes and the corn), Obo Cops (who arrests cereal? And why?), WeedaBricks (self-explanatory if you’ve ever eaten compost, which I haven’t, officially). And others, whose names I’ve deliberately forgotten.

They all taste like nothing. Sugary farts in milk. Or in WeedaBricks’ case — mulch from a overgrown hedgerow.

I take objection to anyone suggesting I eat such crap. I am the original Cereal Killer. Any box that crosses my threshold gets terminated with extreme prejudice.

My Almanac also says afternoon tea consumption is between 14:30 and 16:00. Military precision. I didn’t write these rules. Well, I did. But that’s beside the point.

I must go, tea won’t make itself.