Every box turns up made up, filled and sealed. No flat-pack card to fold, no glue stick, no sitting at the kitchen table at eleven at night wondering which tab goes where.

Each box measures 114 x 70 x 25mm — near enough the size of a real prescription pack. Small enough for a stocking or a gift bag, big enough to be recognised as medicine from across the room.

We can even post it straight to the patient in plain packaging, with no clue as to who prescribed it. Whether you own up afterwards is entirely your business.

Every box comes with a sealed pillow pack of 50g fruit jelly beans. Misshapen, various flavours, and gone within about ninety seconds of the joke landing.

It's the only medicine we know of that people actually finish the course of. No water needed, no "take with food", no small print about operating heavy machinery. Just a handful of sweets and the quiet satisfaction of having diagnosed someone correctly.

The front gets the laugh. The back is where it earns it.

Full ingredients panel, nutritional information, barcode, dosage directions — all written with an entirely straight face. There's even a dispensing label from Banterbiotics Pharmacy, 69 Sarcasm Street, Banterbury, with a blank space for the patient's name.

Fill it in yourself, in your best or worst doctor's handwriting.