Crispy, crispy toast.
You know what I haven’t had in a long time? Toast. It probably doesn’t help that since Ma died, we’ve not had a toaster in the house. I don’t know what happened to it: whether it broke or whether it just disappeared off the face of the planet, the answer will always a remain a mystery.
I mean sure, I can always go to a cafe that does breakfast and ask for a few slices, but pay £3 or £4 for the privilege? Nah, I’m good.
Then again, it has been a while. I guess I should just have them. Even if they’re going to cost me. Just thinking about it is making me slightly hungry now for toast.
Toasty toasty toast toast. TOAST. TOOOOOAST. T.O.A.S.T TOOOOOAST.
[I wrote this because I wanted to write something , anything, that meets my quota of having a post on here once a month at least, even if it’s absolute banal horseshite coming out of my proverbial mouth. Like this. Blame Carli Velocci (@Velocciraptor) for the article idea. And this isn’t the first time I’ve written something so stupid either.]