The perfect Yo-Yo. It's a biscuit, not a toy, boy. A state, a swinging thing. An enormous melting moment. The biscuit that keeps on giving. Shortening, custard powder, castor sugar. I'm cast adrift and find two too-big chalky islands joined by contrasting sweet passionfruit cream. The first bite, the perfect mouthful that disintegrates, sticks to every part of you even after a brush-off. Too much.Tumeke. Indigenous to the deep South. The Octagon, cheese rolls, pots of tea, The Little Hut (Little Slut), bodgie-boys in cars, custard squares. But it's always been You.You - perfect.