I have to keep reminding myself that we’re in the middle of the summer holidays. Apart from during one brief, glorious spell of sunshine yesterday, the seas reflect the grey of the skies and our car boot is filled with waterproofs and wellies rather than swimsuits and suncream.
Perhaps the weather is to blame for the strange sightings of unidentified flying objects around our house these last few evenings. When three small children and one barely-grown-up adult are cooped up together during the day while the rain pours outside, it’s hardly surprising that weird gizmos rise to the surface eventually.
This particular flying floss machine had been stored (what do you mean, “hidden”?) under a bed for some time. Oh, it’s not that we didn’t appreciate the present, Aunty Lucy – really, honestly, truly, L thought it was the best present in the whole wide world. It’s just that … well … it’s a candyfloss maker! You know – candyfloss – that sticky, sickly, sticky, sticky, sticky stuff. Emphasis on sticky.
Well, I’m here today to tell anyone who has a candyfloss maker hidden under their bed: “It’s okay. H o n e s t l y.”
I take it all back. Not only is it the simplest thing in the world to clean, it doesn’t spread gobs of icky-hot sugar all over your kitchen walls and ceiling at all. At least, ours doesn’t. And even O has finally been won over by its charms (no, that doesn’t extend to his actually trying any of the stuff – it’s more in appreciation of the pleasure it gives to his sweeter-toothed offspring).
Look, it’s easy. You set it spinning around for a bit while it heats up and prepares for take-off …
… and then you scoop some granulated sugar (the manual was quite specific about that – ‘use ONLY granulated sugar’) into the middle.
After that, you set it spinning again and wait for the fine, gossamer strands to start appearing. Wind these onto a paper cone …
… and hand to someone with extremely high sugar tolerance levels.
Can you catch a candyfloss cloud on your tongue this summer?