The Easter egg displays have drawn my attention to the extraordinary number of chocolate and sweet sellers in Lewes. We seem to be a town of hedonists, sybarites and sweet-tooths. My favourite chocolate shop is Bonne Bouche. I like that it’s the size of a broom cupboard and tucked away in St Martins Lane. Twittens are the perfect location for discreet suppliers of illicit goods. Bonne Bouche is old-school: won’t take credit cards, and sells chocolates from another era, like Violet Creams from Audrey’s of Hove. But I’ve joined the dark side, when it comes to chocolate. Milk chocolate slips down too easily, and before you can say ‘Desperate Housewives’ you have to hide an empty wrapper under a cushion and deny having ever laid eyes on a giant bar of Whole Nut. Dark chocolate is hard to gorge on. And with its anti-oxidant properties, it’s virtually a health food. But to paraphrase Mae West, when it comes to the relationship between chocolate and women, goodness has nothing to do with it. Men should be told the truth. Chocolate as an aphrodisiac? We made it up to get you to give us chocolate. We are delighted to be presented with Booja Booja champagne truffles. They do make us happy. All that theobromine. But once handed over, your work is done. I used to get away with eating my son’s Easter eggs when he was little. So bad for him. A mother must make these sacrifices. But the time of innocence has passed and now I have to hide mine from him, which is a shocking indictment of the youth of today. They are as unscrupulous as their mothers.