My boyfriend hates raisin toast. He hates anything to do with sultanas or raisins or genetically modified super sultana-raisin hybrids (or whatever).
So, imagine me pulling a cafe style loaf of raisin toast from the shelf - spicy, and very thick. He pulled his 'Gah Face' at me, like I had agreed to house the Anti-Christ in our spare room.
"No! I want it!" Yeah, I reverted back to a five-year-old. You see, that's how far back my nostalgia for this humble loaf goes. Me and Mumma (and my siblings), waking up early for school, her making me a cup of tea and some raisin toast - before coaxing up the embers in the fireplace.
Later, it was just us in the middle of rural Queensland. I would wake up to an electronic alarm clock (yes, this was before children had mobile phones) and the "ERNH ERNH ERNH" would fill me with rage. However, my mother had been preparing classes since three in the morning, so I would hand her the sixth cup of tea and a slice of raisin toast meekly. My rage would be let out by watching cartoons - their violence sated me.
One day, though - and I remember this clearly, because I felt wholly betrayed - there were no cartoons. Every channel had the news. I was not happy.
"Mummy! My cartoons aren't on!"
"What's that?" she looked at the TV, "Oh."
Al Qaeda, I am to understand you killed hundreds (thousands?) of people, but I think you should answer to the trauma you caused millions of children. Because I have talked about this to many people my age, and they agree - you deprived them of their cartoons. You are monsters.
So anyway, I bought some raisin toast, and the decadently thick slices would not allow my toaster to turn on. I am twice traumatised.
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