What?

Personalised face lollipops, £39.95, prezzybox.com. Shaft-mounted aggregate of sugar-water solutions. Boiled, flavoured, coloured and set into the likeness of a human face.

Why?

My boy lollipop, you make my heart go, ‘Oh God, please stop’.

Well?

This week’s item is a bespoke lollipop. And OK, I admit that doesn’t exactly fit the brief. You could report me to the kitchen gadget police, but I checked, and they were preoccupied with the case of not existing. Besides, I assume technology is involved somewhere in the process. Here’s how it works: you email a picture of yourself to the company, specifying your distinguishing features, and their Oompah Loompahs will spin, knead and sculpt your candy clone. I ordered one of me, one of Boris Johnson. (They offered to make two, and I panicked. I can’t decisively order in restaurants, and this was an unusual conversation.) On unwrapping, the first impression is of weight. They’re heavy, as skulls should be. I take a look at the sugar likeness of me. It’s flattering how unlike me it is, more of a psychopathic, Pacific Islander Elvis Presley.

Meanwhile, it feels freaky to have Boris Johnson’s head on a stick, a cascading omelette of blond drowning his blue peepers. A bit Lord of the Flies. I’m not super into the idea of licking it, as I suspect real-life Boris would love it, but I do. The hair tastes of tutti-frutti. Upsettingly nice. Things get weirder over the next few weeks: the skin of my face blisters, beginning to look grey under electric lighting. Boris, however, endures, plump-skinned, tasty, pink in all lights. I’m no Dorian Gray, yet at least he got a portrait. I don’t want either of these infernal totems, but who can I offload them to? A child? What if someone saw? That would be a messed-up transaction. So now I’m stuck with myself and Sugar Ray Johnson; one mouldering to a symbolic grave, the other hellish and immortal. If auto-cannibalism or licking celebrities appeals, and you’ve got the lolly, here is the perfect gift to yourself. Given the mix of sugar and narcissism, though, it’s hardly the healthy option. They say two heads are better than one – on this evidence, that’s crap.

Rhik with the Boris Johnson lollipop he ordered. Photograph: David Levene/The Guardian

Any downside?

Does the bit where I took delivery of my own voodoo head not count?

Counter, drawer, back of the cupboard?

The attic, or City Hall. Wherever’s darkest. 0/5

This is the last Inspect a Gadget, sad to say. When first asked to write a weekly column about kitchen gadgets, I wasn’t sure if the joke was on me, you, or journalism itself; I think we’ve covered the bases. These three years have been an absolute blast. I’d like to thank Susan Smillie for the idea, Suzie Worroll for doing all the work, and the insalubrious coven of oddballs below the line – you’ve been the best fun. I herb you’ll join me wherever I wash up next, so we can coriander good work we started here.