My greatest opponent, my legendary adversary. O toast, will you always tempt me with your crumby delights? But I must stand firm. Too often has a once-promising project been derailed though a sudden desire for toast, only for my blood-sugar level to crash, leaving a random collection of letters and symbols where my forehead has suddenly encountered the keyboard.
And yet.... perhaps, o toast, you are the only one who has ever understood me? The controversial glories of Marmite are well-recorded, there is no need to dig up old battlegrounds. As the adverts so clearly expounded: some people quite like Marmite, others don't like it quite so much. A sizeable group of the population doesn't really care either way. But the delights of granary toast with chunky peanut butter and a thin layer of brown sauce... The world is not ready for such marvels. Oh the terrible bitter irony that my arch-nemesis, my greatest foe, is the only one with whom I can share my soul, my inner secrets, my true self.
But perhaps we are not so very different, you and I? Ah that times were not as they are, and my metabolism sturdier. Is it too much to hope that under those rarified circumstances, we could be... comrades? Brothers in arms? Perhaps even... friends?
But I fool myself. You and I, o toast, are locked in a hateful cycle of combat from which we can never escape, doomed to fight together through eternity. I, who am fated to devour you, will become in turn your victim. The roles we play spin and merge and weave. We fall through time, destinies forever entwined.
Bollocks, I'm hungry now.
Ooh, I got an oaty cob from the farmers' market on Tuesday.
Yum yum yu-