Some readers have suggested that this blog is getting too highbrow, and that perhaps it's time to return to the days when I wrote about crisps and other more mundane matters. Well kids, this is your lucky day, because I just started eating a packet of crisps so hideous that it made me put pen to paper in disgust. By the way, it feels really strange to sellotape up a half-eaten packet of Roysters and then put it in a big envelope.
Dear Sir / Madam,
I'm writing to complain about a packet of your Royster's T-Bone Steak crisps I purchased from Oxford News, 78 Oxford Street, London today. Most of the crisps tasted stale, with none of the crunch I'd expect from the usually reliable Roysters brand. I was disappointed, but not devastated. That was until I reached the middle of the pack, where I came across a lump of uncooked crisp material welded together, looking like a mutant life form originating from a galaxy far from our own.
The fact that Roysters now seem to be available in only one flavour should surely improve quality, but the enclosed evidence disproves this theory dramatically, and tragically.
Anyways, the half-eaten packet is enclosed. Hope you have more fun with it than I did.