There are two biscuits left on the plate (the photo is for illustrative purposes because I no longer have a plate of biscuits to photograph (Note to self: plan blog posts better)). Tesco’s Finest Triple Chocolate Shortbread, or so I am assured by the packaging. Much effort has gone into creating a biscuit that is tasty. Countless variations of the recipe must have been baked to ensure perfection every time a batch rolls off the production line. I briefly wonder what coffee time must be like in the Tesco research kitchen. Are there piles of weird and wonderful cookies just waiting to be dunked into the latest “Special Blend” of coffee? Do they get sick and tired of mince pies in March and Easter Eggs in October?

But back to the issue at hand. There are two biscuits on the plate. There is one biscuit in the hand of the fastest child to the table. Eldest is standing there, biscuit raised, ready to chomp into it.

“I wanted that one!” yells Youngest. The biscuits are indistinguishable. Mr Tesco is very particular that every biscuit is created identically, and packages them with care. Yet this particular biscuit is clearly superior to all other biscuits. Probably because it is in the hand of her brother.

“You can choose one of the other two” I volunteer.

“But I wanted that one!”

I still haven’t got the hang of these negotiations. “Why?” will probably elicit screeching. “They’re all the same” will probably elicit screeching.

I settle on “There’s two left. Choose one of those or don’t have one”. Screeching ensues but is cut short by the arrival of Middle and the possibility of losing all chance of choosing.

“That one’s broken” she announces. My eyes audibly roll. I look at the plate. A chocolate chunk has fallen out, causing approximately 1/100th of the biscuit to crumble onto the plate. Some of the crumbs probably come from her sister’s biscuit.

“If you don’t want it…” I start. She know’s what’s coming. There’s a good chance that’s the last biscuit in the house too. I try not to buy them as I’m far too prone to eating them.

Huffily, she swipes the entire plate away and retreats to her corner seat. Where she proceeds to pick out every single chocolate chunk, quickly turning the biscuit into two piles – chocolate chunks and biscuit crumbs – which she proceeds to sweep into her mouth and all over the table and floor (not the chocolate though, that is very carefully transferred piece by piece as though it were a rare delicacy).

I sigh and accidentally-on-purpose find an extra biscuit at the bottom of the packet which I carefully hide for later.

The plot thickens….