I think of juice (in moderation) as something healthy. I’ll glug down some of my favourite Bramley apple, then plonk the glass down with a satisfied thud declaring “that’s one of my five a day”.

But when the juice in question is sugar cane juice, even I begin to have doubts as to whether all juice is such a good thing.

H loves the stuff, and whenever we saw a grinding machine, heaps of splintered discarded cane and bottles of pale greenish liquid atop a stall, he would make a swift beeline and purchase some.

It really does just taste like sugary water. Okay, so there is a sort of green freshness to it that hints at the fact it isn’t just a sugar syrup in disguise, but it hits the sweet taste buds and then stays there.

Some bottles were more intense than others, requiring dilution with ice to be drinkable. When very cold, it was refreshing, and energising in a “I’m feeling a bit twitchy now” kind of way, but just remember not to let the word “juice” lull you into any sense of virtuousness.