You know what?
(I know this will come as a complete shock to many of you ….)
I really dislike the term “superfood”.
I love it about as much as I love the term “supermum“.
Because, quite frankly, if that single blueberry doesn’t come flying in, cape on, underpants on the outside, to rescue me from the terrorists living in my kitchen, tormenting me with their tween- and teenage obnoxiousness and body odour, then there’s no fucking super about it!
They won’t even do my frigging ironing!
The alleged “super” foods. Not the kids. I’ve managed to train one up well. Ish. He still whinges, but he does it.
For me, and yes, admittedly I have been swayed by the media, in my vulnerable youth watching hours upon hours of