Dear Niknaks

You are so very orange.

On the worst days of illness or fatigue, when I can’t manage anything else, you raise me up. My hand will emerge from your bag, triumphant, knuckles dusted with fine powder, clutching your luminous knobbly sticks.

You are ever salty and crunchy – unless someone leaves you open too long, reducing you to spongy sadness. A lesson to us all: Always finish the lot in one go.

A photo posted by Bradley Vause (@roachyrockcoach) on Jul 7, 2016 at 5:09am PDT

Even though the smell of second-hand Niknaks is the actual worst, especially in enclosed spaces like train carriages, I understand the urgency to open you right away. I know the true joy of that first chip, down to those very last crumbs that hide in the corners, which I too will pour straight into my mouth, even in polite company.

Once claiming to contain real cheese (0.1%, according to the bag), now you keep it refreshingly real, calling yourself a ‘maize snack with cheese flavour’. You know I can’t resist all those poisonous E numbers. (Out of respect to you, I shall not dwell on your erstwhile spicy beef and fruit chutney variants.)

Yes, as callow youth, I may have tried to set one of your sticks alight and smoke it like a cigarette, as a joke. My only excuse is that of peer pressure. I was on a school camp, far away from home. Thank you for not holding that against me.

In return, I shall endeavour to forget your mascot of yesteryear, a freaky, white-lipped clown in a zoot suit. Now Nik the Nak has become a much friendlier, regular-looking human. I thank you for that.

Oh Niknaks, your shiny pink-and-yellow foil bag never fails to cheer me on grey days, whether in a humble petrol station or a fancy Spar. And when I see that bright blue strip on your shoulder from across the room, proclaiming the 15g extra inside, my heart is lifted.

Know that I remain, despite your faults, forever yours.

Linda