Jelly babies, liquorice allsorts, bulls' eyes, clove rock, pineapple chunks, fizzy orange, sherbet lemons, sour apple, pear drops, chocolate satins, cough drops: a mantra of sugar that everyone has chanted at least part of in their time.
Remember the sharp tang of sour apples that made your mouth water in protest, the small bomb of sherbet lemon going off unexpectedly at the back of your throat, the round liquorice allsorts covered with tiny bits of shocking pink or blue candy which you sucked off, the desperately exotic smell of tropical fruit that came out of the paper bag when you went digging for pineapple chunks, the small, furtive pleasure of biting the head off a jelly baby?
Burrowing into a paper bag of sweeties has something of the element of treasure-hunting about it: never being quite sure how many of those brightly-coloured pieces are hidden within those lumpy corners. Pre-wrapped bars just don't surprise.
"There was a time when there was a sweet shop like this one on every corner in every town and village," says Gerald Kavanagh, whose sweet shop on Aungier Street has been in business for more than 75 years. "Now there are only a few left."
The interior of Kavanagh's shop has not been changed since the 1930s. Walk in the door and you are greeted by glass-fronted cases in which trays of jellies and penny sweets are displayed like jewellery. Above them are racked shelves with dozens of jars of traditional, boiled sweets, none of them more than 75 pence a quarter. The cash register is the original one, operated manually.
Kavanagh (70) took on the shop from his father, Joseph. He now runs it with his son, Finbarr (36); the third generation of Kavanagh men to stand behind the counter and weigh out sweets on the old balance scales. "I've tried all the sweets in the shop and have no desire for any of them any more - I've had me bellyful of them," Gerald confesses. "I like the bon bons," Finbarr admits. "There's three flavours: strawberry, lemon, and original."
There is a constant stream of people coming in and out of the shop as we talk: men in sharp suits buying bags of jelly babies, an Australian couple buying chocolate raisins, a small boy buying five sets of pink and white mallow teeth. DIT is just down the street and students are good customers. What sells best? "We've a few top-notchers all right," Gerald says. "Jelly babies, liquorice allsorts, and cough drops."
On one side of the shop is the section frequented by children; the selection of sweets costing just pennies. The goliaths of childhood expenditure are still there: cola bottles, blackjacks (still only a penny), sets of teeth, candy cigarettes, sherbet dips. And some new ones have arrived: jelly watches, rainbow-coloured football players, green mallow frogs, blue jelly dolphins, and orange dinosaurs, all looking like surreal extras in some science-fiction movie.
"You can get some of these sweets in pick 'n' mix shops, but I don't think it's the same thing," Finbarr says shyly. "It's good to see this shop carrying on. I do feel proud of it." As well as the DIT students and passing trade, they have had several well-known folk through their door. "Eamonn Andrews, Frank Kelly, Twink, Mick Lally," Gerald recounts.
"Oh yes, and Sean Lemass, of course." Sean Lemass came to Kavanagh's to buy his supply of jelly babies? "He came for the Fianna Fail cumann meetings. They used to be held at the back of the shop," Gerald explains. Then he laughs. "He used to buy sweets on his way out, but I can't remember what they were."
Anthony Murray, a customer of advanced years, has just bought a bag of chocolate limes. "I come in here every day on my way to Mass," he relates, while I'm waiting for my bags of jelly babies and liquorice allsorts to be weighed out. "I'm praying for my passport - the passport to St Peter."
On his way out the door, he opens the bag. With a courtly old-fashioned flourish, he presents me with a wrapped chocolate lime. "A gift of sweets will always be eaten," he says sagely.