Not Straight from the Budget Lock Up...

...More modern life really.

I got into the car this afternoon and my daughter, who is four and perhaps the most acutely verbal person on the planet, started telling me about her day. She'd been to the dentist for a check up, and been sufficiently calm that he'd done a proper clean of her teeth.

Personally I loathe this happening. I go along twice a year and get it done but find it uncomfortable to the point of not-being-able-to-wait-until-it's-over. There's pressure, there's abrasion, there's noise. A trained professional has his fingers in your mouth. What's not to not like?

Afterwards I feel stoical and - yes, my teeth feel amazing. So I was pretty impressed that my daughter had got through this. So was my wife. As a treat for being such a brave girl, she bought her a donut. And a milkshake. And when she got home, she was allowed a biscuit. That is the kind of top-quality parenting we provide.

So I got the full narrative about the dentist and the donut and the milkshake and the biscuit. She was particularly impressed with the biscuit, which features layers of things that our dentist would be horrified to hear about. She called it a disco biscuit and I laughed.

A few hours later I saw the packet. It really is called a disco biscuit. I was sure that meant something else. It took about one second on Google to confirm that suspicion. I can't help but think that someone at the large European retailer we bought the biscuits from has a sense of humour.