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9:04am on Wednesday, 23rd June, 2010:

Crying over Spilt Bread


At the weekend, I bought some bread. Well, when I say "bread" it was Warburton's, which my father-in-law likes but the rest of us regard as being bread in the same way that bread is flour: there's a bit more processing involved.

Anyway, because otherwise we end up throwing away half a loaf, at the weekend I took a couple of slices out to use for some disgusting purpose involving gravy upon which I shan't elaborate. When my father-in-law came on Monday, he also took some slices out.

Yesterday, I was at Brunel being an external examiner. This meant I couldn't get to the shop and buy bread that looks like bread, tastes like bread and can't survive a nuclear holocaust like bread. I therefore had to make my sandwiches using Warburton's, which, being Warburton's, was just as fresh on Tuesday as it had been when I bought it on Satirday. I'm sure the expiry dates they print on them are for next year, not the current year.

It turned out that when my father-in-law took his bread out on Monday, he didn't noticed that I'd already opened the packet at the other end. This meant that when I took it out of the bread bin yesterday, all the slices fell out of the other end and onto the floor. I had to choose the ones touching it the least to use in my sandwiches, otherwise I'd just be eating ham.

When I was a kid, all bread was like Warburton's. Families were divided into different camps along bread lines: they were either Sunblest families or Mother's Pride families. We were a Mother's Pride family. It wasn't until I got into my late teens that I tasted bread you could eat on a sunny day without needing sunglasses to stave off the brightness. Brown bread was white bread with brown colouring added to it.

Still, my father-in-law was born in 1922 and is still going strong, so there must be some benefit to eating stuff like Warburton's every day.

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Copyright © 2010 Richard Bartle (richard@mud.co.uk).