I could have fired off a quick but thoughtfully written email to the customer services department and that would have enabled me to register my dissatisfaction. It would have been ignored of course but at least I would have had my say, albeit a say that would have gathered dust in an inbox until the time came to hit the ‘delete all’ option. This called for a bit of the old school, time to exercise my hardly used letter writing skills. If you want to make your disapproval known, the best way to do it is in writing. Although I do pride myself on sending a good email, nothing beats the feeling of pouring your opinions onto paper before the ceremony of folding it into an envelope. When I was a kid writing letters was the only way to communicate cheaply and efficiently. Those were the days when the sight of the postman walking up your path was a cause for excitement, nowadays it’s just bills, offers of loans you don’t need, and leaflets, only on your birthday and Christmas is it still nice to hear the letterbox. I don’t even know how much a first class stamp costs these days, no doubt it has gone up and people complained, although it is still a bargain considering it will be delivered anywhere in the country the next day.

Anyway, I had a serious consumer issue that I felt I couldn’t not say anything about. I’d like to think that my letter isn’t the only complaint they have received and if enough people kick up a stink then action will have to be taken.

Tangy Toms used to come in a small white bag and was part of the ‘10p crisps’ family that also included Space Raiders, Transformer Snacks, and I seem to remember a burger flavoured football themed snack, although its name eludes me. I do not wish to wax nostalgic about the confectionary of my childhood, if you want to hear someone bang on in an unfunny manner about the good old days then buy a Peter Kay DVD. It doesn’t matter which one as they are pretty much the same, in fact Live at the Bolton Albert Halls and Live at the M.E.N. Arena are exactly the same, an artist brave enough to admit that he knows his fans are gullible fucking idiots.

While buying a can of Coke today, my eyes were drawn to a bag of Tangy Toms. It’s been years since I saw them and decided there and then to buy them and eat them walking along, I hadn’t had my dinner yet but I am a rebel. These days they cost 30p a bag, which I thought was fair enough as prices go up; a Mars bar no longer costs 25p and some places charge more than 50p for a can of Coke. For 30p and a bigger bag I could hardly contain my excitement as I anticipated eating thrice the crisps that I did as a child. Then I opened the bag. As soon as I got home I wrote the letter.

(This genuinely is the letter I wrote)

To whom it may concern

I have fond memories of a maize snack in your portfolio known as Tangy Toms, as indeed I have of all ’10 crisps’. However, I couldn’t help but feel let down today when I opened a bag. These days the snack costs 30p and rather befitting the threefold price increase, the bag itself has followed by example. Rather reasonably, I was expecting to find three times the amount of food and my mouth watered as I left the shop, childhood memories of all that tanginess came flooding back. I could see myself as a child, pocket money jangling away in the pocket of my A-Team tracksuit bottoms as my BMX trundled down the road towards the shop. I was on my way to my local shop to treat myself after a hard week at school, maybe I’d buy a freeze pop to quench the thirst made by those little tomatoes and their delightful tang. Summers were longer back then, we had the rest of our lives rolled out in front of us, by the time I’m 37 years old I will own a spaceship and take holidays on other planets. Life was good when you only needed 50p a week pocket money to buy everything you desired.

Down to earth and snapped back into the reality of adulthood with a sickening thud was I, when I peered into the bag only to find exactly a 10p bag amount of Tangy Toms engulfed by a 30p bag like it was wearing brand new oversized clothing its mother has assured would be grown into. I fell to my 37 year old knees and pounded my chest as I looked towards the heavens and shouted “Oh Golden Wonder, why?” Passersby offered a sympathetic support, my eyes were dried by a kindly stranger, as I told them the story some wept openly as though at a funeral. In a way we were at a funeral. As the maize treats rolled down the road we mourned, although the Toms were no less tangy, for my new found group of friends they represented the death of childhood. Each Tom symbolized the passing years. I’m older now, what message should I impart, should the chance ever become a reality, to my younger self?

Trust nothing I would cry, life will let you down. Pedal that BMX far away and never once look back for nothing is as you hoped. Birthdays are not a celebration but a reminder of your mortality. Christmas isn’t the joyous time you think it is. Life, bills, problems with the bank, a bad back, failed relationships, disappointment and finally the blessed relief of death. He too would be tearful of eye as his future self, older but no stronger, told forth on what lay ahead. Oh, and Tangy Toms will cost 30p.

I’ll tell you the truth. The scene in the street as I fell to my knees, that didn’t happen. However I felt as though it could have. Golden Wonder. The very name evokes such promise; GOLDEN. WONDER. Say it loud. The golden wonder of Golden Wonder is that you refused to be beaten. Always the underdog, but we love an underdog. I wave my fist and show two fingers to Walkers and their arrogant disregard for the ‘cheese and onion – green/salt and vinegar – blue’ rule, a rule that was never meant to be broken. Golden Wonder you have made a golden blunder and I urge, nay beg that you make it right.  By charging 30p for 10p worth of crisps you are only fuelling the continued breaking of Broken Britain. It is in our prayers that you see the error of your ways forthwith.

I await your response with the same eager adrenalin that coursed through my veins on my childhood Christmas Eves; 20p worth of your delightful snack would sedate my woes. Either that or a cheque for 20p donated to the charity of your choosing, for the money means nothing to me, it is a matter of principal.

Yours faithfully

Steve Oliver

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