Yesterday morning, on what was officially day two of Britain’s gravest goose fat crisis since records began, I attempted to secure some goose fat in my local supermarket. Who was I kidding? Since Nigella Lawson went on television and recommended that we lard our Christmas turkeys and float our roast potatoes in goose by-product, you’re as likely to find a Sainsbury’s shelf groaning with fresh unicorn thighs.

Sales of goose fat have doubled, according to one report, noting, with appropriate awe, “the Nigella effect”. We have become “a nation of goose-fat lovers”, according to another. Goose fat is in meltdown. It’s this year’s must-have substance, after Bailey’s Original Irish Cream and polonium-210.

Then again, now I come to think about it, goose fat was never in abundant supply in my supermarket in the first place. It wasn’t something you tended to see, glancing into your fellow shoppers’ baskets. Blueberry-flavoured drinking yoghurt and Mr Muscle limescale remover, yes. Goose fat, no.

Certainly the sales assistant I consulted had no recollection of stocking goose fat — and nor of any recent goose-fat-related skirmishing in the aisles. He directed me towards an ample supply of duck fat in tubs with no queue in front of it. But did Nigella say duck? No, she did not.

So what would it mean, in this slightly downbeat context, for sales of goose fat to double? Has Britain genuinely gone goose fat barmy? Or did four people buy some last week, and eight people this week? Don’t get me wrong — I have every admiration for Nigella and her effect. But there are many things in which interest could double overnight without creating something describable as a national craze. Real tennis and Chihuahua-breeding are two of them. Is it possible that cooking with goose fat is another?

• Meanwhile we learn that some of this year’s top-selling toys could deafen children. The bleeps and buzzes emitted by Fireman Sam’s Action Jupiter fire engine, among others, can cause tinnitus, according to Deafness Research UK, which concedes that the danger is in proportion to how long children play with the fire engine and how closely they hold it to their head.

  This has led a toy manufacturing spokesperson to point out, somewhat plaintively, that Fireman Sam’s fire engine is not meant to be jammed directly into the ear, making it no more or less guilty of wreckless hearing endangerment than other household items such as TV sets and food blenders.

  For anyone who is still worried, though, can I suggest the following remedy? A knob of goose fat in each of your child’s ears will create a protective barrier through which even Fireman Sam on a fresh set of Duracells will struggle to penetrate. You can use any leftovers to roast your turkey.

  Unfortunately, goose fat is almost impossible to lay your hands on at the moment. Why is that?

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