A long long time ago I pitched my brilliant idea about a toast column to an editor: a weekly interview with a Perthonality about their toaster and the way they like their toast. There are some wired toasters out there and people do the strangest things when their eyes are still gummed with sleep. But tragically the editor did not share my enthusiasm. If she had green-lighted Toast Breakfast the Walkleys would have rolled in and I
might would be editor of the Times Literary Supplement by now. Instead I’m marooned in fucking Guildford and our toaster blows the fuse because it’s so choked with crumbs and the sparky yells at us in outrage when he shakes our four-slice DeLonghi over the sink.
I am prepared to suffer such indignities when our toaster regularly produces blackened treasures: Amy Winehouse popped out the morning after she died!
I am a toast reporter anyway. This crowd emailed me about their press card: “Union dues mounting? Cost of membership a burden without any real benefit? OfficialWire’s International Press Card is an affordable solution…you’ll find the OfficialWire press card a useful tool that will grant you access to your next story.” Of course that is just the right tack to take with me so I took advantage of the tremendous offer: only 45 quid a year and 35 quid a year afterwards!
I know TWOPers share my concern about homeless toasters: I saw this one in Shenton Park. I showed it my press card and said I was there to get its story and it said:
From a factory deep I burned with hate,
And I lunched on old disgusting crusts froze.
Vegemite and quince paste caused me strife,
I woke to black smoke under a laminated sign.
When I died they found in me a ferret with no nose.