You know what?

Toast.

That's what.

I ate toast this morning. With peanut butter. I never eat toast with peanut butter. Normally I just eat it plain. If I had a particularely strong sweet tooth, I'll have honey or jam on it. But never peanut butter.

Never peanut butter.

And you know what else?

Toast.

Yes, toast again.

People don't eat toast outside enough.

Infact, people don't eat breakfast outside enough.

Mostly people down some food drowsily in the dim morning light, sitting at their nicely polished tables awash with spring colours or in their beds, spilling crumbs and dirty dishes to add to the rest.

But breakfast, my friend, is not nearly a celebrated enough meal.

In fact, I went outside and ate my toast today...

Okay, okay. So I was walking to the bus because I was late, but what ever. It was still outside.

And I still got strange looks.

I mean, how often to you see someone walking down the street eating a piece of toast?

Not often, I'm guessing.

But toast is a great, great thing. A great, plain, sturdy, sensible thing. Better than bread and butter by that little bit of warmth it brings you.

The quest for the perfect piece of toast.

I have had very few perfect pieces of toast in my life, mostly because our bread is bigger than our toaster, so the top inch never gets toasted.

But what ever.

Toast is still great.

Next to pie, it is the staple of humanity as we know it.

All hail the Toast.

.

Rosie.

Before&After