Despite being a self-confessed sweet tooth, chocolate isn't usually my go-to treat. However, since relocating to London from New Zealand eight months ago, I've been intrigued by the array of unfamiliar treats in local corner shops.

Not one to typically venture out of my culinary comfort zone, I thought what better way to sample some iconic British chocolates than while on duty as a journalist. Once my editor gave the green light (I adore my job), I set off to the nearest corner shop to hunt down some of the treats recommended by my British colleagues.

Below are my candid reactions in the order I sampled them. Each chocolate bar was assessed based on its smell, texture and taste, with palate-cleansing water breaks in between.

Having now sampled all five bars, I have one request for my next taste test, should there be one: at least an hour to lie down afterwards. You can read my review of classic

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The luxurious packaging of the Wispa, with its regal purple hue, immediately caught my eye. Yet, my first whiff of this chocolate bar quickly brought me back to reality.

It had a rich, overpowering scent with a faint hint of marshmallow, which concerned me. As someone who detests marshmallows, this will become relevant later on.

The texture was decent, somewhat akin to a Flake, if Flakes had the dignity to hold their shape, and mildly sticky but manageable. However, the taste screamed of cheapness.

I suppose for 69p, I can't demand excellence. It wasn't awful, but it wasn't impressive either.

On the whole, I'd rate Wispa a 6/10.

The first red flag with the Starbar was its utter lack of any aroma. I held the cut-off corner so close to my nose that I ended up with chocolate on me, yet there was no trace of scent.

Quite concerning.

Upon taking the first bite, the texture was shockingly bad. The gritty, sticky mess clung to every nook and cranny of my teeth and overstayed its welcome.

It felt like eating sand without the satisfying crunch. Yes, I know what sand tastes like, and no, I don't wish to discuss it.

The flavour was passable, less sugary than its predecessor, which was a nice change, and there was a hint of nuts and caramel that I didn't mind.

Despite its agreeable taste, the grittiness ruined the experience for me, leading me to score Starbar a lowly 3/10.

This is the one I've heard most about - largely due to its contentious packaging that used to bear the slogan 'It's not for girls'. But times have changed, the slogan has been dropped, and this girl was all set to dive in.

The stench was immediately off-putting. It was a peculiar mix of fruit and nut, prompting me to double-check if I'd picked up the original Yorkie bar.

I had. The texture was an unappetising combination of oily and slightly gritty.

But the real horror lay in the taste - it was horrendously bad. So much so, I hesitated before taking a second bite, hoping to identify that strange aftertaste.

My second attempt offered no clarity, only disappointment. Perhaps Yorkie should resurrect their 'Not for girls' slogan to spare any other woman this ordeal.

Yorkie scores a dismal 0/10. Sorry, lads.

The Lion bar held immediate promise. Its aroma was reminiscent of gently toasted nuts with a subtle hint of chocolate, devoid of the overpowering cocoa scent I'd come to dread by this point in the day.

The texture was pleasing too, offering a Rice Krispie-like crunch, albeit slightly stale. In terms of flavour, Lion outshone its competitors.

It wasn't sickly sweet or cloying, but had a delightful hint of caramel that I adored. The balance between wafer and chocolate was spot on, making it an overall enjoyable experience.

It's likely the only one I'd consider buying again. Lion earns a commendable 9/10.

The first thing that struck me about the Double Decker I was about to tuck into was the odd, sweaty gloss on the inner layer of nougat. This wasn't a promising start, but as I was nearing the end of my chocolate marathon and feeling a bit clammy myself, who was I to pass judgement?

The aroma was predominantly chocolate with a hefty hint of marshmallow - a confectionery I'm not particularly fond of.

The texture was overwhelmingly marshmallow-like, spreading through my mouth like sticky molasses, getting stuck in my teeth, coating my tongue and clinging to my throat. The flavour was reminiscent of cheap perfume, and again, it was all too marshmallowy for my liking.

I know it's supposed to be nougat, but you could have fooled me. Marshmallows are grim, and so are Double Deckers. 1/10.