I'd just come back from a run and was starving, and needed something to snack on while making a proper dinner. I'd planned to finish off a pot of olives I knew we had, but no joy - someone had got to them while I was out. I looked for some crisps - nothing doing. I searched for biscuits - only crumbs were to be found. Eventually, hidden away, I found half a pack of Tesco Value tortillas which had evidently survived from a party I barely remember having. I unrolled the top of the bag and had a cautious bite - still crispy, even after who knows how long they'd been there.

My story of shame should stop here, with me furtively eating an ancient bag of crisps in the kitchen. But it doesn't.

The crisps were salty, as cheapo crisps are, and after the first couple I knew the only way to eat them was with some sort of dip. I knew we didn't have any guacamole around - I PRAY for guacamole - but a quick shufty around the fridge saw very little of dippable quality - no salsa, no humous. Could I dip in jam? In mayo? In butter. I would not. I held my resolve.

And then. My eyes alighted on a jar I had forgotten about a long time ago. A jar I had used once, for a mediocre round of toast. Could I dip an old tortilla chip in THAT, I thought. Would it work? Would it provide a vaguely Tex-Mex sensation? Could I, hip_young_gunslinger, dip an old tortilla chip in a forgotten jar of Cadbury's Chocolate Spread (like Nutella without the nuts) and eat it and still look myself in the eye?

Reader, I dipped it. And what is more, I enjoyed it. I have shunned the oh-so-fashionable sweet/salty trend that has ripped through our coffee shops and confectioners, but now, here I was, in my kitchen, an eye on the door, in case I should be spotted (the shame), munching furiously on slightly stale crisps and chocolate spread.

I showered this morning. But the guilt does not wash off.