And so to court, where the judiciary has this week been spending time on one of the bigger legal questions of the day: the definition of cakes and biscuits.

It’s a battle that might sound superfluous but is one whose answer is worth not hundreds and thousands, but millions and billions to the companies involved. Thanks to a curious tax loophole, cake is considered a type of modified bread. As such, it is classed as a staple food, and is exempt from VAT. Biscuits, by contrast, are considered as a luxury item, and thus have 20 per cent slapped on.

Back in 1991, in one of law’s landmark cases, HMRC and McVitie’s did battle over whether or not a Jaffa Cake was a cake or a biscuit. Apart from pointing out the fact that the clue might be in the name, McVitie’s baked the court a twelve-inch Jaffa Cake to come away victorious.

Last week, the taxman set his sights on a different type of confectionary: the flapjack. In a case brought against manufacturer Glanbia Milk, judges Christopher Stalker and Caroline Small concluded that flapjacks are biscuits rather than cakes, leaving the firm liable for millions in VAT payments.

Conscientiously chewing their way through several of the flapjacks in question, the judges ruled that ‘the ordinary person would not consider this to be the typical texture of a cake.’ ‘An archetypal cake,’ the judges munched, is ‘more pleasant to eat than other everyday food’. Wiping crumbs away, they concluded that flapjacks wouldn’t be served at ‘celebratory functions… such as a workplace celebration of a colleague’s birthday.’

If only there was a recent example of a workplace celebration of a colleague’s birthday that the judges could have used for evidence… If Glanbia Milk can’t use Sue Grey’s report in their appeal, might Rishi Sunak prove a useful witness to call? Sunak, as his publicity photos document, owns a rather lovely £180 Ember travel mug, which allows you to select what temperature to keep your beverage warm at. If a flapjack really is a biscuit, then Rishi should be able to dunk one in his afternoon cuppa without it crumbling into caffeinated porridge.

Or perhaps I could step in as a witness? A couple of years ago, my daughter’s school project was to make a model of Stonehenge. My daughter had a plan (or rather, a plan for me) to make Stonehenge out of flapjacks.

When it comes to replicating Neolithic monuments, I can say from bitter experience than flapjacks are (less than) firmly on the crumbly side of confectionary. I still curse the rival father who spent a full five minutes making his child’s model out of a packet of bourbons.