Mints with a Four-Hour Window.


The best thing about After Eights is they come housed in their own, miniature filing cabinet.

Flicking through those tiny open-ended envelopes makes me feel meticulous. I can briefly hoodwink myself into thinking I’m an organised person. I also feel like a giant businessman, which is a pleasing byproduct.

It gives me an insight into what it must be like to work in an office. I’ve never had a proper job (save a brief stint in Argos which doesn’t bear thinking about). Sitting on my sofa, browsing a box of dark chocolates could be the closest I ever get. I just need a tiny desk, phone and in-and-out tray for my experience to be complete. Oh, and a spider plant. And a salary.

It’s like cross-referencing confectionary: it’s tough, but someone’s got to do it. This was how I spent my evening. There were two downsides: (1) it reminded me that I need to do my tax return, and (2) it made me feel sick. Another reason to dislike Nestlé.

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