In 2005, for example, a billboard for the Bloom supermarket chain promoting its bakery featured a three-dimensional pan of six muffins.
Before this year's world championships I ate three muffins with honey, Philadelphia and jam at 4.15am, two-and-a-half hours before the start.
I don't care if it's the biggest bakery in Britain, or how many million muffins they make, it's still a bloody factory visit with Gregg bloody Wallace.
Not that you'll need any extra persuasion to tuck in … Makes nine muffins 75g frozen blueberries 75g fresh blueberries 240g plain flour, plus a little extra 110g butter, softened 200g demerara sugar 1 egg, beaten 1tsp baking powder 1tsp bicarbonate of soda ½tsp salt (optional) 240ml buttermilk Preheat the oven to 190C/gas mark 5 and line a muffin tin with nine papers.
Surprisingly, the $9 room-service Continental breakfast (usually a euphemism for overpriced and undernourished) was too big to finish: a plate of mixed fruit, a thermos of coffee, a hefty glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice, two muffins, a biscuit, a glazed cinnamon roll and five pots of jam.
Also, there will be six muffins waiting in the company break room, courtesy of the nice folks at Amazon.com.
I would say millions is either 3 or 5 million (consider muffins: if you had one muffin, you would have "a muffin". If you had two muffins, you would have "two muffins". If you have three muffins? You have "muffins". Four muffins? Peculiarly, at four, it tips over into "a pack of muffins". And at five? We are back round to "muffins" again. Muffins for millions.
Only two Muffins, 25 or so nuggets, two quarter pounders, chicken burger, milkshake and bottle of water to go to get my gold medal for being absolutely terrible at being alive.
All I ended up grabbing were some pieces of melon and two muffins, none of which I could enjoy properly because I happened to sit right next to some former colleagues who I was afraid would notice my weirdness.
