Quite coincidentally it was only yesterday that I initiated the boys in the evils of the Nestlé monster. The illegal and unethical pedalling of powdered baby milk, the avoidable deaths of more than a million and a half babies every year because of inappropriate feeding. They were alarmed. They were disturbed. Then deeply distressed.
What, no more peanut kitkats? Ever? Not from me, I said, thereby letting them know that I was well aware they’d already calculated kitkats would still be forthcoming elsewhere.
I am printing out a list of brands and products from which Nestlé benefits and attaching it to the fridge. In fact the worst-affected member of the household is poor Maizy who loses out on a couple of favourite pet treats. Followed by firstborn who lusts after L’Oreal haircare products to maintain his desired “dragged through a hedge backwards whilst being electrocuted” appearance.
I am of course totally unaffected. Never touch chocolate. Can’t abide the stuff. And as for coffee, well I only drink the highest quality espresso especially prepared by… oh shit.
What is sauce for the goslings has, I suppose, also to be sauce for the goose.