If nothing else, it seems like a waste of muffins. An online toolkit has been produced to guide children through questions of gender which revolves around the simplistic premise that you’re either a blueberry muffin (a boy), a raspberry muffin (a girl), or mixed (with no gender identity).

When almost half the trans pupils in the UK have attempted suicide (according to a Stonewall survey) and it is crucial that gender is discussed in schools, the muffin model is so reductive as to seem pointless. When I interviewed trans activist and model Munroe Bergdorf she was desperate for gender to become something everyone felt they could talk about without being scared of saying the wrong thing. This won’t change that.

The muffins are distributed — those who receive blueberry ones stand in the blue, boy, corner; those with raspberry go to the pink zone, and those with mixed have nowhere to stand. And that’s it. There’s no fluidity, no allowance for the normal human impulses that make boys want to wear dresses to play football and girls run around in trousers racing cars, but still be girls and boys.

Trans friends were dismissive when they heard about this half-baked toolkit. It’s yet another example of the establishment not getting it, and risks alienating people by likening emotionally fraught experiences to baked goods.

By the same token, it implies that girls and boys have to be a certain way, slotted into neat categories. What’s needed instead is a wider cultural change. One place to start is cinema — a huge source of common feeling and where children learn emotional lessons about solidarity and tolerance. Scarlet Johansson has been cast in thriller Rub and Tug as Jean Marie Gill, who was born a woman but identified as a man — why not employ a trans actor instead? There are plenty of other roles for Johansson to play.

Meanwhile, Rachel Weisz is to play Victorian-era trans man Dr James Barry. This is where attention should be focused instead of messing around with muffins.

Drugs (and wine) do work for the French

Vive la France, at least when it comes to the country’s approach to medication. My holiday to Marseille last week began with a trip to the dentist. It was for my boyfriend, who was in searing pain from a root canal snafu. His London dentist had prescribed mouthwash and bombarded him with confusing, expensive choices. With just one look, the French professional began to dish out all the drugs he could. The nurse exclaimed that the antibiotics were very strong — the dentist shrugged. He even allowed alcohol — one glass of red wine a day helped keep the pain at bay.

How I long for some fairy godparents

I’m jealous of Prince Louis . Not because he’s been born into such a gilded life that he will never have to worry about trifling matters like paying rent but because he has six godparents. Some might say this is excessive over- commissioning, showing a lack of decisiveness but, as a heathen only-child with not even a single heavenly anointed extra guardian to watch my back, I get it.

Growing up, the real star of Cinderella was, for me, the plucky fairy godmother. I considered asking friends if I could share their godparents — admittedly part of the draw was that the chief role of a godmother seemed to be buying presents from the Sylvanian Families shop.

Now I see them as a vital support network, back-up when your parents become older and care roles are reversed. Why not have six — give your child all the allies they can get.

The sun awakes my accidental pervert

The sun has turned me into an accidental pervert. At Hampstead Ladies’ pond everyone pretends they are totes mature but really they are sneaking glances at each others’ bodies. “I was so relieved when I came here and saw others have huge nipples,” said a friend. Another was delighted at the flat arses. Body hair is another fixation — men don’t care how smooth your armpits are, while women obsess about it. On holiday in France, where topless sunbathing is de rigueur, there was more to look at — the majority of breasts were suspiciously pert. Un peu de nip and tuck, peut-être?