I've never been a sweet lover, but I adore Cherry Lips. I haven't seen them for years, since the Chocolate House in Lytham, where I used to buy them, turned into a discount perfumery or something equally pointless. They are part of my adolescence, hard and red and perfumed and impractical. They jam your jaws together, get stuck in your teeth and taste like soap. A bag of them lasts for months, as evidenced by the fact that I'm only about halfway through this lot and we're nearly out of winter.
It's like chewing on a little bit of the 1980s. It's the Ashes to Ashes soundtrack in my mouth. Weird.