One of the other writing projects that I undertook was to submit something for a “zine”. In fact this is a foodie zine Cakes and Canapes compiled by my good friend Miriam Nice who was a large part of the inspiration for this blog initially. Her blog inspired publication features articles and illustrations centred around a particular food stuff each issue and I am proud to say I managed to have a short, cautionary (fictional) tale included in the 1st edition. Please do have a look at www.cakesandcanapes.co.uk to find out more. There’s a Facebook group, you can follow Mim on twitter, purchase the zine and she has a blog that I follow which is an entertaining cocktail of life and food combined.
I will be writing soon to update anyone who cares to have a read on: Boys Week (holiday), The Diet (low/no carbs…ouch), Temping (yes I have work for now), sporting conduct (cricket season is in full swing) and the rest that life has to offer in the meantime! For now I hope that you enjoy my submission for C&C.
Bread - A Cautionary Tale
The other day my mate told me that the best thing to do, with regard to my ensuing wifely predicament, would be to use my loaf. Annoyed, I swung my lunch box at him, catching him flush across the forehead. He angrily enquired “What’d you do that for?” to which sadly, I didn’t really have an answer that would most likely have made him happy. Nope, no retrospectively suitable remarks what would’ve satiated his growing ire not to mention lump swelling on his aforementioned bonce.
As he lent forward, hands thrust throatwards with all the intention in the world to throttle the last breath from my very own soul transporter, it dawned on me that, now, his erstwhile words of wisdom made a crystal clear sense in my mind. Quick as a flash I opened my box and offered him a sandwich with a quippy remark of “you told me to use my loaf”. I paused, expecting the worst if I’m honest with you. Imagine my relief when he reached forwards and examined my crusty sacrifice. He was becalmed enough, whilst demolishing my egg and cress, to reduce his threat level to a mild distain and whilst he munched away, murmurs of satisfaction oozing between bites, my mind wandered to the international peace keeping power of the sandwich. Well, to put it more precisely, a loaf of bread.
We’re a simple race with simple needs. Given each worsening famine or fledgling war is proceeded by a sack loads of flour or loaf after crusty loaf of being dished out from the back of a flatbed to the suffering, embittered and impoverished it would appear to be a multinational success story. Bread. The simplest of things. The noblest of things. Saviour of the hungry and bringer of calm and reassurance. It turns out my disfigured companion had had the most valid of points and his initial, irreverent recommendation was not without its merits.
In fact it turns out that whilst a useful, if accidentally insightful point, it wasn’t a theory that could be applied to every conceivable situation. Specifically mine. When I approached my good lady wife, tea in one hand and glistening butter covered thick white sliced toasted glory in the other, suggesting that we could talk out our recent difference of opinion and rebuild a loving relationship with the most basic of food stuffs as the cornerstone foundation, she, so it happened, disagreed. Apparently bread, no matter the quality or covering whether it be Golden Churn or love itself, will not rebuild all bridges. Especially those burned by being found in the marital bed chamber with one’s very own secretary. I also found out that hot butter and scolding tea make evil bed fellows when combined in what can only politely be described as a vicious assault!
I do salute you, bread, for all the good in the world that you may well do. Poverty and warzones may, for want of a better phrase, your bread and butter. However I regret to announce that it would appear not even bread can repair the damage caused by crumpet.