"That yoghurt is our last hope" "No. There is another."

I was eating yoghurt the other day, and how I came to be so is a truly dark and most sinister thing indeed. However, my mind easily wandered as it usually does as I slug the mild, smooth, creamy taste of despondency down, to the halcyon days of yoghurt, which, you’ll find, were the mid 1980’s.

The 1980’s was when the yoghurt scene was vibrant and exciting. It was then when I settled on my favourite yoghurt flavour.

A clear and present child of the 1980’s my red M.A.S.K. lunch box had a matching red flask (which contained the fl.oz. for one and a half, small, plastic cupfuls of orange juice), one corned beef roll, one Masters-Of-The Universe moulded jelly sweet and a Star Wars yoghurt.

I suspect that I am one of a select few who remember Star Wars Yoghurts. One of the main characters was drawn on each pot. They were brilliant. Except Luke Skywalker pots [vanilla – was he ever heroic in anything?] and Princess Lea, obviously [a girl on a yoghurt pot? I don’t care if she does have her blaster drawn. Not in my M.A.S.K. lunch box].

Of course, Star Wars was never going to last and soon, too, their branded pots were replaced in my lunch box by St Ives’ Fiendish Feet.

Now, these yoghurts were genius. Their pots were designed as monsters: a fun monster character face drawn on each pot. But they were so much more. You see, the Pots. Had. Feet.

When you had eaten a Franken-pot monster yogurt, after your lunch, you could wash it out and you had a little empty yoghurt pot bloke to play with. It was no PlayStation 3, but these were simpler, more rubbish times [Google search the 1980’s Robosapien equivalent: “Little Professor Calculator”], post-MTV generation readers.

The thing was it didn’t matter. Screw your bipedal yoghurts: my mind had been made up.

To this day when anybody asks me what my favourite flavour of yoghurt is my answer is as swift as it is unerring:

Chewbacca flavour.