The Breadline

I've just been to the baker's, something I usually try and avoid in the early hours, as that is when most good Germans go and buy their daily bread. The advantage of going at this time is that there is a much bigger choice. But this morning it was so overwhelming that I really had trouble trying to decide what I wanted. Such dithering can lead to social death if you aren't careful. Both behind and in front of me were stern elderly ladies who knew quite clearly what they needed. The one ahead only had to grunt and point a gnarled finger at the baker-lady. The one behind grew more and more impatient as I stumbled my way through my order. I felt that familiar, light-sweat-breaking-out-on-brow sensation that I so often get in these situations. It was the same in Belgium - foreigners are all very well, but they shouldn't disrupt time-honoured rituals like bread buying with their lack of knowledge and indecisiveness. The upshot of this was, as always, that I didn't get what I went to buy at all; under pressure, I plumped for the only thing that was clearly labelled and that I knew I could pronounce. No wonder we eat a lot of sliced bread in this house! So much easier, and you can take your time deciding which packaging is more attractive.