Laughing In The Face Of Death

So there was this man, right? His name's not important. His name was Ian. It had long been Ian's ambition to visit a bread factory. Ian had a fascination - you could say he had an obsession, some kind of fetish, even - with bread. He loved bread in all its forms; raw bread! Partially baked bread rolls! And other types of bread too - even up to and including toast! As long as the toaster dial was set no higher than 3, of course.

Ian was the sort of man who would stand and stare in slack-jawed jealousy if somebody walked past him in the street eating a sandwich. Ian, he used to stride up to the counter in Greggs, and demand: "Give me a sandwich! I don't give two shits what's in the sandwich - I just want the fucking bread!". Ian could have saved a lot of money if he'd just have bought loaves of bread, instead of sandwiches. But we all have our foibles.

Imagine the look of surprise and delight on Ian's face when he received a letter from the bread factory, informing him that he had been selected to go on a tour of the bread factory! Go on - imagine it! Christ, he must have been happy! Ian liked bread, you see. He really really liked bread! Although that has already been covered.

Ian wondered why this invitation had arrived, apparently out of the blue. Could it, he wondered, be a sinister plot by the Bread Marketing Board (Bread Board for short), who had realised that they could no longer keep up with Ian's relentless appetite for bread, and had decided to do away with him before the bread supply/demand equilibrium was unbalanced too far - with catastrophic consequences? No. No, Ian decided. It was probably something to do with the dozens of letters which he had sent to the factory the other week, asking if he could have a look around (and maybe try a few samples - cheeky Ian!).

Well, the day of the great Bread Factory Visit arrived. Ian jumped out of bed, and had his usual breakfast (as it was a special day, he allowed himself extra thick slices of bread). He ran up the road to the bread factory, perched atop the hill like a bread-producing concrete goddess. "Finally!" thought Ian. "Finally I will find out the secrets of making bread! Perhaps - perhaps one day, I could even bake my own!". Ian, as you can probably tell, was a man with big plans.

As soon as the factory tour began, Ian was captivated. He found out that flour is used to make bread. "Well I never", thought Ian. "Flour! Who would have thought it!". He was right. It was a surprising thing for anybody to have thought, unless they had read a bread recipe or had even the most basic idea about baking. Alas, Ian had not, and did not. Ian and his guide rounded the corner to see the most beautiful sight - a spurting cascade of golden bread dough! Tumbling down, down, down, into a lake of pulsating raw bread!

Ian reached out his trembling hand in awe. But wait! His plastic Warburtons watch (£2.99 and 5 tokens from any Warburtons wrapper) was cruelly snatched from his wrist by an extra-large blob of dough which shot downwards and quickly out of sight. Ian thought the offending blob of dough looked suitable for a granary batch loaf, or maybe even six smaller rolls. Thinking about bread again, Ian almost didn't notice that he was sailing through the air - and into the lake of bread!

Ian loved that plastic watch. He loved it like his own brother. So when it left his wrist, Ian's body acted where his mind did not, and leapt over the barrier. After the watch. Down. Down. Ever further down. Ian was fucked.

"Nooooo! I don't knead this!" shouted Ian, laughing at his clever bread-related joke as he was mixed, folded and pressed into a uniform mass by the enormous bread-mixing machine.