As the London skies swiftly darkened and the air became crisply cold, I roamed through the streets of Soho at 5pm, wishing I hadn't forgotten my gloves today. A small pink-and-white shop caught my eye on approaching Brewer Street. I'm no sweet aficionado but something about the rows of old glass jars, the incredible array and colours of sweets, besides the way "Mrs Kibble's Olde Sweet Shop" was written, drew me in.

Another lady, who seemed to be a regular, asked for a pack of this and a jar of that while I stood in this rather tiny space — which almost helped to recreate the nostalgia — and gaped at the sherbets, mints, white mice, liquorice, gobstoppers and flying saucers, taking me back to the days of sweet treats and cornershop visits, to the days when my school friends and I would buy double dips and crisps to share on the way home, not to mention the odd Mars and Twix bars.

What is it about old sweets — I have a few friends who have the odd craving for sherbets and fizzy cola bottles — that takes you back to when you fell down on the street and your mum gave you a little sweet to appease you or when your grandpa would magically pull a sweet from his pocket that he was saving just for you. It's almost as though you've just met a long-lost friend.

Now that I'm one to eat dark chocolate and sugar-free chewing gum, I don't really crave sweets. But with all these jars lined up tightly next to each other, I was lost somewhere between memories and fascination. It would have been rude not to buy something — if only for old times' sake. "Could I have a handful of aniseed balls, clove balls, liquorice and some cola bottles please?" I asked after some browsing and pondering.

I popped one aniseed ball into my mouth before buttoning my red coat, tightening my scarf and walking out into the lively street.

As I passed some cafés, a cupcake shop, a shoe store and lots more, taking in pre-Christmas festive atmosphere, I savoured my sweet and smiled, thinking about the incredibly delicious afternoon, which had begun with a bite at a cute little vegetarian café called Mrs Marengo's. The the burger my friend and I shared was tasty and wholesome — certainly not the kind of burger that called for guilt; and if there was any guilt, it abated during my post-meal walk.