UNSATISFIED

One day a couple of years ago, I was at the supermarket, once again engaging in the fine art of supermarket strolling, and a shiny red and yellow packet of crisps caught my eye.

[Note to marketers: if you want to sell something to me, use red and then yellow, in that order].

The famous crisp company had come up with an interesting variation on 'cheese and onion' to catch my attention. It was something like 'Supercalifragilistic Peruvian Magic Dragon's Cheese and Onion of Truth'. The combination of the colour and the name made these crisps stand out from the crowd and I seemingly had no choice but to place them in the basket with my usual cocktail-barman style juggling flourish.

Later, as I was relaxing at home after a very pleasant run around the park at sunset, I took the packet of crisps down from the cupboard, ready to give myself a well-earned treat. As I was opening them, I noticed that printed on the back of the packet was the instruction: 'If you are not entirely satisfied, please write to the following address....'

I proceeded to open and taste the crisps and they turned out to be remarkable in every way. The texture and taste surpassed any other overly salty snack I had ever had the pleasure of popping in my mouth.

However, my hamster had just died, a horse I had laid quite a large bet on that afternoon came in fourth, and my girlfriend had, only the day before, subtly hinted she didn't like my haircut (managing very skilfully to not actually say so, so that she could completely deny it if necessary later).

I would have been deceiving myself and anyone else who cared to ask if I had considered myself 'entirely satisfied', so I got out a pen and paper and prepared to write a letter to the crisp helpline informing them of my various woes. I have to say that I was rather disappointed with the response which finally arrived three full weeks later. Although it was very gracious in thanking me for my interest in their brand of nibbles, it made no attempt whatsoever to rid me of the daily dissatisfaction which had been dogging me for so many years.

I was left wondering why on Earth they had got my hopes up by advising me to write to them in the first place, and from that day forth, I vowed only to buy extravagantly named blood-pressure elevators from their arch-rival brand.