There’s a certain moment, familiar to most of us, that arrives with the hollow rattle of plastic on laminate. You’ve demolished the last jelly ring. The fizz has fizzled. The cola bottles are gone. All that’s left is the tub—sturdy, stackable, slightly sticky—and the growing guilt that comes with not wanting to bin it. And here, dear reader, is where the story really begins.

Because if you think a sweet tubs destiny ends in landfill or the recycling bin, you’re missing the point entirely. These humble containers, once filled with fizzy cherries, sour snakes, foam bananas or whatever your particular poison, are in fact the Swiss army knife of domestic storage. They’re the unsung workhorses of British homes. And we should be treating them as such—with reverence, imagination, and perhaps a Sharpie label if we’re feeling especially organised.

From pick n mix to practicality: the tub's glorious second act

There’s something quietly triumphant about reusing a sweet tub. Not just in the ‘look at me being sustainable’ way, though yes, it does slightly scratch that itch. It’s more than that. It’s the sense that you’ve outwitted the modern throwaway system. That you’ve taken something designed for short-term gratification and given it long-term purpose. You have, in effect, found a use for plastic that doesn’t involve microbeads or oceans, and frankly that deserves a round of applause.

But more than the environmental pat on the back, it’s the sheer **utility** of the thing. Sweet tubs are, by design, airtight, stackable, and built to handle a surprising range of abuse—from being shoved under car seats to hosting three generations of sewing paraphernalia. They’re deceptively generous in volume. Easy to rinse. Satisfying to open. The Tupperware of the people, if you will, but without the middle-class guilt about matching lids.

“What do you even use those for?” – said no practical person ever

Still sceptical? Fine. Let’s take a stroll through the house and see how many ways your sweet tub can earn its keep.

• The Craft Corner Containment Unit: Buttons, sequins, pom-poms, those rogue googly eyes you bought during your brief Pinterest phase. Finally contained. Finally dignified.
• The LEGO Black Hole Solution: Decant those ankle-destroying bricks into something with a lid. Sweet tub: 1. Bare feet: 0.
• The Kitchen Leftovers Vault: Pasta. Soup. That portion of roasties you insist you’ll eat tomorrow. Pop the lid on and thank yourself later.
• The DIY Bit Box: Screws, nails, washers, picture hooks—those things you never have when you need them and always find in a rusty tin. Not anymore.
• The Kids’ Snack Safe: Because once they’ve finished the sweets, the container can house crackers, raisins, and the odd emergency biscuit. A calm parent is a prepared parent.
• The Plant Propagation Station: A few holes in the bottom, a scoop of compost, and suddenly your sweet tub is sprouting basil like nobody’s business.

And if none of those strike your fancy? Use one to store all the other sweet tubs you’re not ready to let go of. The recursion is both poetic and extremely practical.

The joy of hoarding (responsibly)

There’s something wonderfully British about keeping hold of things “just in case”. It’s a mindset inherited from grandmothers who wrapped cutlery in cling film and reused margarine tubs for decades. And while we may laugh—because of course we do—we also now find ourselves opening cupboards filled with ex-sweet tubs housing tea lights, string, and exactly three AA batteries of unknown charge.

This isn’t clutter. It’s **optimism in plastic form**. It’s believing that life might, at any moment, present a situation in which you suddenly need 400ml of dry rice or somewhere to put every Allen key from every flatpack furniture kit you’ve ever built. And when that moment comes, you’ll be ready. Because you kept the tub.

Sugar first. Solutions after.

At Monmore Confectionery, we sell sweets. That’s the headline, and we’re proud of it. But what we really provide—if you’ll forgive the lofty sentiment—is a little burst of joy followed by a surprisingly useful container. You might buy it for the fizzy mix or the jelly worms. But you’ll keep it for everything that follows. Because after the sugar comes the sense. The satisfaction. The storage revolution that starts with a tub and ends with a house that finally has somewhere to put the Sellotape.

So no, don’t throw it away.

Rinse it. Repurpose it. Give it a second life as a vessel of calm in a chaotic world. Let it hold memories, bits, bobs, buttons or biscuits. Let it organise, contain, preserve, and protect. And if you really must throw one away, make sure it’s because you’ve already filled three others and can’t possibly justify another. Yet.

Monmore Sweet Tubs: buy them for the sugar. Keep them for everything else.