Every Thursday morning, delicious sour dough bread arrives magically* on our doorstep. It’s like having the Father Christmas of bread visit once a week and I don’t have to spend the rest of the day with relatives I would sooner bump into on public transport than see at any other time during the year.

I whisk the bread inside, whip out the bread knife (which sits idle for most of the week) and slice away, toasting a few pieces before slathering them in avocado, finishing with lemon juice, salt and pepper. For a few minutes, I am at one with the world.

My Thursday morning ritual is only disturbed if:
(a) I burn the toast
(b) some bastard has finished the avocado
or (c) Aussie Farmers Direct runs out of sour dough & leaves a pathetic sorry note on the doorstep instead of the bread (that happened once and I swore vengeance would be done)

Ahhh the simple things in life.

Do you observe a ritual? Or worship bread? Contact me.

*It is delivered by a man in a van who works for Aussie Farmers Direct, a logistical process that can only be described as magic.