That mintiness starts going menthol as piney flavours announce their arrival ("Hullo!") with aniseed balls presenting themselves as the pretentious synergy between palate and finish and eventually going home with no friends.

The pitch is ploughed, the javelin throw has failed and we've been rugby tackled by a mint rocket gargling chilli water and vacant peat. Emergency stop please.

Things get somewhat more challenging (and non-existent) with peanut brittle popping up without the peanuts (The Ghost of Peanut's Past), hanging out inadvisedly with *something witty*, a man who's so up his own arse that he has asterisks in his name.