Peters put out an ice-cream called "Heaven". I thought Heaven would be a little more...
I had a deprived childhood. No Nintendo, no Reeboks, no Super Soakers, no designer clothes (at architect prices), no McDonalds, and no colour television.
My mother used to keep me in line with such enticements as "You will never go to heaven if you are not polite to Auntie Vera", or "Only boys that put out the compost go to heaven". Or (reverse psychology) "You'll go to Hell and burn if you don't eat your Brussel sprouts".
Do you realize how many lavender flavoured, flaky-skinned aunts I had to kiss to pay my way through purgatory? Or how many mountains of lightly festering compost I ferried down to behind the garage? Or how many plates of long cooled Brussels sprouts I had to choke and gag my way through?
Now you would have me believe that not only is Heaven readily accessible to all but that you can get it for a guinea or so at the local Milk bar.
Possibly I was out of line to imagine heaven was somewhere where the average female age was considerably less than seventy eight, where all the compost was carried away by white doves and where Brussel sprouts weren't but it was all that kept me going through those terrible, harrowing years.
Now you tell me that it is just an ice cream?
Don't get me wrong, your product is fine as far as ice creams go but it is a little of a disappointment as the final reward for a lifetime of terror induced obedience.
They voted the letter one of the best consumer letters ever received and informed me that, thankfully, there were no plans to introduce a Brussel sprout flavoured ice cream.