Must be spoiling us

Ooh, chocolate, yum. Munch munch sick. That's how chocolate works isn't it? Stuff yourself with brown morsels until your ateries are furrier than a bear's bottom, whilst shoving phrases such as "I really shouldn't" past the masticated gunk collected in your face-hole. Everyone loves chocs.

Which brings me to Ferrero Rocher. You see, there are posh chocolates (have a quick glance around here) and there are cheap chocolates (Cadbury's Misshapes for instance) and then there are chocolates that think they are posh but really aren't. Ferrero Rocher does not stand alone in this category, 'After Eight' was a trailblazer, and Toblerone have recently joined in by releasing the skinny and all really rather pointless box of slices known as 'Tobelle'. But Ferrero Rocher are synonymous with attempts at upmarket affordability, due in no small part to one of the most famous advertising campaigns in the history of advertising: 'The Ambassador's Reception'. You remember the one, lots of glamorous society types are attending a ball when suddenly a butler appears carrying a stack of chocolate treats on a silver platter. Everyone gasps, says the ambassador is spoiling them and treat themselves to a foil-wrapped orgasm.

However, as the saying goes, times change. People change. Interest rates fluctuate. In these days of politicians fiddling their expenses in ways that the rest of us would never DREAM of doing, we are no longer persuaded to behave like them. "Eat these, they are all eating them in Whitehall" is a statement that carries as much persuasive power as X-Factor finalist Stacey Solomon's post-performance chat contains coherance. So where to go from there? Well, we live in an increasingly secular age, so the logical route to take is religion.

Obviously.

A modern take on religion of course, nothing antiquated. So therefore the new Ferrero Rocher campaign involves Greek gods sat on mount Olympus munching the eponymous nut/paste/wafer/chocolate/more nut layered ball. They then drop it like the butter-fingered boobs they are and we're back in Prometheus territory. Sadly we do not then get to see anyone being lashed to a rock while their inconveniently re-generating guts are eaten daily by a hungry bird of prey until the end of time. Which is a terrible shame. "Oh Zeus" the eagle would squawk, "with this liver you are truly spoiling us".

Nothing says 'eat me' like ancient Greek mythology now does it.