Flights and fairy bread

This time next week we'll have just touched down at Heathrow. It's beginning to feel a little bit real now. We're so looking forward to catching up with people.

At the end of each month at work, on the last Friday, each team in the office gets a turn to organise the end of month drinks. Sometimes there's pizza. Sometimes there's fish and chips. On Friday the HR department organised mini savouries (what little meat pies are called over here), cheerios (small pink sausages like cocktail sausages but pinker, bright pink) and fairy bread.

It's the last of these particular delicacies I want to talk about this evening. I can guarantee that no-one British will be able to guess what fairy bread is. Imagine this - slices of whitebread, buttered, scattered liberally with hundreds and thousands. No really. It's a kids party staple. Whereas I grew up with pineapple and cheese on cocktail sticks stuck in a foil-covered baked potato, kiwi kids grew up with coloured sugar on buttered bread. No really.

I was trying to visualise the process that led to this cullinery extravanganza. Picture this - mum goes out leaving dad at home with the kids. He's told to make them some sarnies for lunch. Bread is all laid out. Bread is buttered. Open cupboard. Hmmm, out of jam. No marmite. Peanut butter is running low. Er, hundreds and thousands? Er yeah, that's it. Just cover the bread in hundreds and thousands. Genius.

Only it's not.