Exciting kitchen discovery

"Damn," I said, in the tone of a TV doctor surveying his latest patient. "We're too late." For there they were. Lurking at the back of the snack cupboard, buried under several tonnes of Lindt chocolate and the three bags of Kettle Chips I'd hidden away from New Year's Eve guests: my Tesco Finest Mince Pies. Happily purchased in the run-up to Christmas; squirrelled away at the first sign of visitors, and now, 2 weeks into January, surely out of date. A cognac-infused tragedy of all-butter proportions.

As the bin swung open I felt my heart and/or stomach swell with regret and longing. Christmas 2014 was many things, mostly pleasant, but packed with endless rounds of mince pies, especially those iced ones I quite like with a coffee was not one of them. Having spent more time hiding treats than eating them in London, I arrived back at my parents' to find the only mince pies available being hastily baked by my mother - her first foray into the world of pastry since 2010's 'millionaire shortbread' debacle. Suffice to say, I only ate three.

But wait - what was this? Could it be...? I peered closer, spectacles perched upon the end of my nose, and felt something approaching joy in my chest for the first time since I stopped drinking snowballs at 11am.

By the god of saturated fats! It's a post-Christmas miracle! Quick, back into the cupboard before anyone notices you're still edible!!