I was once awake at 4am during the last fortnight of university. To get me through it, I cracked open some Ben and Jerry's, but unfortunately I was quite disappointed. Why? Here's a letter I sent.

Hi there,

As you may or may not know, the end of the calendar year is a very busy time for students. Not least of which because the hectic holiday season turns everyone into a belligerent vegetarian going for the last Quorn sausage roll at a singles mixer, but also because our lecturers deem the final day just before a three week break to be the most appropriate deadline to judge our £30,000 degrees.

This heavy workload coupled with the caffeine-binge induced ability to go without sleep for days on end usually means that we're up in the early hours of the morning typing furiously. Whole nights are spent intricately discussing Foucault's philosophies on methodology in his Archaeology of Knowledge, the sociological impact of mechanisation in the early 1900s and the effect on industrial factory workers, or what the sense of smell represents in rubbish novels like Perfume. Tonight is one of those nights.

So it was with great excitement that I pulled open the freezer door, bathed in the iciness that flowed out of the frozen drawers, cracked open and peeled away the crisp circular plastic surrounding a frost-laden 500ml tub of Ben and Jerry’s Phish Food, and proceeded to wrench the firm lid away to reveal the chocolate treasure within. Oh such relish was to behold from mouthfuls of such complex blends of ice cream, marshmallow and caramel, instantly melting upon touching my tongue and so graceful to swallow, instantly soothing my tired and weary body.

However, this ecstasy was short-lived.

I believe it was after my fourth mouthful that I realised something was amiss. The fifth and sixth spoonfuls, along with some explorative demolition of the fast-liquidating dessert, confirmed my suspicions. There were no tiny chocolate fish.

Obviously I understand. Such a goliath company as Ben and Jerry’s, whose iron grip on the ice cream demographic is nothing if not revered, can make mistakes. It would be naive to think otherwise, no matter how infallible the colourful TV spots make the illustrious entrepreneurial duo to be. So as I sat there, spoon in one hand and ice cream in the other, laptop screen diminishing in brightness so as to share my disappointment, I held back the anger. I forgive you.

It is the first fault I can recall in the many products of yours I have sampled and it will by no means discourage me from indulging in your sweet delicacy furthermore (especially if this half price deal keeps coming around). This is merely a tale for your consideration; I will of course finish this tub with great pleasure despite the distinct lack of solidified cocoa ocean-dwellers and most likely revel in another the next time my bleary-eyed essay-wrought brain requires a sweet instillation of frozen candied fat. In fact, I look forward to it.

Until then, I hope from this you manage to draw praise of your product and return to your house this evening feeling accomplished and ultimately proud of the service you provide for the millions like me worldwide. I hope that the next time you share a tub of your fine product (or have it all in a moment of Sunday-evening gluttonous misjudgement whilst catching up with Breaking Bad*) you will enjoy it more so. Despite the heartbreak tonight, it has made me look forward to the next time the silky marshmallow is complemented by the oh-so-satisfying snap of hard chocolate.

Sincerely,

LSB123

*I do this