Who’s Soreen Now?

Or should that be “whose”? On this sunny morning, the niceties of grammar escape me, particularly when I am wallowing in disappointment at the outcome of a product that woo-ed me all summer, with its AHA-refed siren (or Soreen) jingle. I finally bought my slab half a week ago and friend, I just cannot understand the appeal of the stuff. For starters, when I try to cut it, the slab shies away from the knife’s blade and turns into a gluey lump, rather like trying to carve a block of plasticene. The resulting slice is reduced to a fattish finger of cake, rather than a generous hunk (like the lady on TV shows us) making it difficult to spread butter. Since my slab is still well in advance of the use-by date, it cannot be that. Or is there something else I don’t know? Friend, rather like one of those Blind Date columns in the Guardian newspaper, this is a romance that will never lift off. In summary, my Soreen has to go. It does deserve a rating though.
Overall appeal: packaging bright and attractive, so five out of ten.
Taste: rather good actually, so ten out of ten.
Texture: too gluey and sticky, I’ll give it two.
Table manners: in my Soreen’s stoic acceptance of my non-infatuation, it scores “excellent”.