Was I always a fan of David Bowie? Not particularly. I mean, I quite liked him as Jareth in the wacky cult movie Labyrinth, for which he penned much of the soundtrack. Cue saxophones, bursting singalongs by a jaded romantic prince-villain, and rousing lullabies to a borrowed/stolen baby. Weird, right? I’d expect nothing less of him.

2.00am, Saturday morning: You wake up in the dark. The bed is warm and your husband sleeps soundly next to you. There’s a rhythmic cramp spreading throughout your pelvic area, like a period cramp. But it feels too repetitive for that. You don’t know much about your pelvis except that there’s been a lot going on in that area of late. A person’s head. Their fingernails, nose, feet and elbows. All in there. In that comfy cocoon you built, a baby-sized sleeping bag for your passenger. Your friends tell you you’re a wizard.

Ginger snaps. Delicious treats constructed from ginger-flavoured biscuity-stuff rolled into a cigar, and pumped full of brandy cream. The cigars can be prepared ahead of time and frozen for several months, so they’re basically available whenever you want to devour them. Ginger Snaps (the film) tells the story of the Fitzgerald girls, who are far less interested in your satisfaction. Ginger Fitzgerald (Katherine Isabelle) and her sister Brigitte (Emily Perkins) hate anyone acting sweet, and Ginger’s going to do most of the devouring in this feature length film directed by John Fawcett.