Ginger.

I am in the bedroom. I am sitting at my desk. I am in the bedroom, sitting at my desk, sifting through emails and generally catching up with whatever the world has in store for me today.

I am eating a ginger preserve sandwich. Lovely brown bread, and lovely spiced ginger preserve.

Some of you may remember my previous encounter with a jar of ginger preserve. Should you wish to recall this story, you can find it here:

Toast.

Well, it's safe to say that my current jar is still in one piece, and it's bloody delicious.

Now, the fact that I am enjoying my preserve is not really a blog worthy topic in itself. I am sure you will agree to that much. As I take the last mouthful of my sticky unctuous snack, I am reminded of something my friend's mum said to me about the original "toast" tale.

I was explaining to Dan's mum about blogging, and about the things I write about. I was trying to convey the fact that blogs are not just diaries, and they aren't just written like:

8:00am got out of bed
9:00am went to work
5:00pm came home

blah blah blah.

Mine would never look like this because of course I don't have a job, but you get the idea.

The concept of online journalling is quite alien to some people. They are entitled to remain in the dark about blogs, but for the most part I think they should dip their toes in the water and experience some of it at least.

I would rather someone read some blogs and then said they were all self gratifying bollocks, than just assuming that we are all self gratifying bollocks writers because some self gratifying bollocks writer had written said comment in a newspaper.

I often forget that some people actually produce good blogs, about real things. There are people living in situations that make for fascinating front line reading. I have to concede that mine is just self gratifying bollocks. They are not all like that/this though.

Anyhoo......

As an example of the things I write about, I quoted the toast example.

Dan's mum looked at me in horror as I explained that I had the brief moment where I wanted to salvage the jar.

She would have salvaged it and couldn't believe I didn't. She went to some lengths to explain how to sift the jam for shards of glass, even suggesting that it might have been an idea to just eat it carefully, checking it as you go along.

It made me laugh as I chomped my sandwich with reckless abandon.

Toast.

See me? I frikking love the toast. White bread, brown bread, poppy seed, bloomer, oven bottom, muffins, crumpets, bagels, cheap loaf, fruit loaf, hot cross buns.... I don't care. Toast 'em, butter em, and scoff 'em down.

I rarely add toppings to my toast. I am fond of a bagel with sliced apple and peanut butter. In fact I love the peanut butter too. Marmite, it's delicious. Cheese on toast. Scrambled eggs and cheese in pitta pockets. Mostly, it's just buttered though.

Recently, I had the urge to find a nice jam or something. Something sweet, that wasn't your standard raspberry or strawberry fare. I stood, in the supermarket, amongst the jams, the curds, the honeys, and the spreads.... for what felt like an age. Looking at the jars, hoping, praying that something would wave its sugary paw at me, and say "Eat me!".

Eventually I made my selection. Plum jam... straight, cheap, no nonsense, supermarket own-brand, plum jam. Then, just as I was chasing the shopping trolley, which all blokes know, when driven by a woman, will have dematerialised during the process of product selection, and is usually to be found in Ikea or somewhere else.

At the end of the aisle, tucked away, almost out of sight, something grabbed my eye. Ginger preserve. I haven't had any for a long time. It's like dark matter, gelatinous, with chopped crystalised stem ginger in it, and it's gorgeous. I grabbed the jar and headed off, looking for the nearest Ikea.

Back at home, shopping stowed away. Perhaps a little ginger preserve on some toasted wholemeal muffins? I lift the jar from the shelf. Round about this time, perhaps through nicotine withdrawal, as the jar reached countertop level, it positively flipped out of my fingers, in an upwards and spinning fashion.

Matrix like bullet time...... spinning jar, hot grill, sideboard completely covered with washing up, vinyl floor covering, socks, all become a bit blurred. Perhaps my reactions are slowed through not smoking, but normally when I drop something, I have this stupid reaction to stick out my foot, and cushion the blow of whatever it is, as it falls to the floor. I hope I never drop a running chainsaw, as I am all too familiar with the damage that large knives can do. I have saved many a favourite mug in this fashion though.

So, of course, in this instance.... nothing. I just casually observe spinning jar, in slow motion, fall to the floor, with a sickening flop. I imagine a similar ending to someone jumping off a roof. The jar didn't bounce, nor fly into a million pieces everywhere. It just kind of splatted, and the unctuous gingery glop held all the shards together.

I looked down at the lump for a few seconds, and thoughts of salvaging it sprung to my mind. Foolish overreaction, I know. Slivers of glass in ginger jelly on toast has never been a speciality of mine, and it wasn't something I was about to start now.

I picked up the homogeneous lump of carnage. Slipped it quietly into a carrier bag, and disposed of it sensibly in the bin.

It's a bloody good job I like butter on my toast!!