Toast

I awoke this morning with a burning desire for toast and marmelade.  We are the sort of marmelade eaters who have one jar at the back of the cupboard housing something that looks like ancient ear wax inherited from Mr Smith's grandmother.  Actually, every now and again some worthy marmelade maker gives us a new jar which we start with enthusiasm until we get enticed by the sweetness of strawberry jam relegating the marmelade back to the dusty archives of preserve filing once more.  Actually, I don't know who made this particular pot but it was jolly good, not a hint of Golden Shred (known in our family as Garden Shed) but a good juicy dark brown with big bits of sevil............  Sorry, too boring I know.

I was eating marmelade to quell some bate or other.  Oh yes, Mr Smith won't let me go to the Caribbean for a little painting week as it would be counterproductive.  Actually, it would be very productive indeed but, yes, it would be a bit expensive and it might bite into the winter holiday budget a bit hard; especially as I am supposed to be earning that through sales of the paintings.  Well, excuse me Mr Golfypants.  How much did your last and next golfing holidays cost, hey?  And golf isn't even your job.  I suppose this should not become competitive vacation spending as this could very easily become very counterproductive indeed.