Thanks Squiffy. I do too.
On a lighter note, when I was 3, my nursery playpiece was usually two Rich Teas with butter. Mary Smith, who sat next to me, always had a piece of delicious-smelling home-baking with coloured sugar decorations.
To add insult to injury, every playtime we had to clasp our hands, shut our eyes tight and sing "Thank you for the world so sweet etc...." when only one of us was about to eat had anything remotely sugary.
After I'd complained about quality at home, one day my mum gave me two chocolate digestives squashed together and I tried to convince Mary that my mum had baked these specially.
Mary was briefly impressed (she rarely got chocolate and I was managing to make the most of squidging it and eating it slowly) until she asked how my mum had got the writing on the outsides, whereupon two others at the same table pointed out that their shop-bought plain digestives had exactly the same "marks" - we couldn't read of course, but I was rumbled.
To the snorts and laughter of others at the table, Mary pointed and yelled: "MISS! Cale's telling FIBS about her playpiece. That's very naughty, isn't it?"
I should just have kept on silently wishing she'd choke on a lightly-baked wodge of cake, but I was a bit firey at three.
Face aflame, I did the straight-arm, pointy thing back at Mary so we were both in the pistols-at-dawn-but-not-close-enough-to-thump position and yelled the only thing I could come up with that was worse than a lie ... disrespecting God.
"Well MISS," I yelled, "SHE kept her eyes open ALL the time we were singing Grace!" ... Take that Maryblabbermouth, I thought to myself with a smirk.
As the teacher enquired gently how I could possibly have known such a thing, I realised I'd just had my first lesson in the art of stopping digging when you find yourself in a hole.