I’m not too fond of lunchboxes, to be honest. It might be that popping noise they make when they’re opened. Or that there’s always some sort of disappointment, something forgotten or squished. Or the contents are never as appetising as they should be, or as nice as someone else’s.

There was, also, the day I opened up my lunchbox at school to find a trail of ants curling around the cling film on my peanut butter sandwiches.

But that’s all a long time ago, of course.

Nowadays, I try to keep my Tupperware usage to a minimum. It may have something to do with the fact that it's impossible to find a matching lid – even though cupboards everywhere seem to be full of them. There are plenty of them here, in the kitchens of The Irish Times offices, abandoned and out-of-shape, and tubs slightly grey or yellowing from Bolognese leftovers or vegetable soup brought to work aeons ago.

I know they're convenient and all that. And I'm sure Earl Tupper – who invented them in the 1940s – should be lauded for the freshness of buns and sandwiches and salads all across the country. But give me a boiled egg any day – it comes in its own special casing and just needs to be cracked, peeled and a little salt sprinkled on top.