The baguette war of ‘23 started with little pomp and ceremony in the aisles of Morrisons. The day itself had started lazily with the sun trying its hardest not to rise to its zenith in the sky but just indistinctly punctuate the horizon with its golden rays. The crisp morning was laden with frost bedecked on branch and roof sparkling in the weakened sunshine, glinting in a magical way evoking a sense of wonderment for all the world to see as he grumpily stomped towards the supermarket.
“Bloody bread. Get the French sticks for the buffet” He murmured darkly. Normally buffets were a tremendous amount of stress as you had to try and cater to everyone’s tastes in “finger foods”. He had everything but forgot about the baguettes, normal sliced bread or rolls were not an option and he was sure that if anyone spied a balm cake there maybe a fist fight over the cheese selection.
The doors swooshed open to let him gain access with his little trolley as it was pushed at speed towards the bakery, swerving this and that around the human objects as he slalomed his way to his target. Six baguettes were standing upright in their cage, all awaiting him but also awaiting the other man who was eagerly eyeing up the bread products. The bastard had noticed him as well.
Trolleys pushed fast to try to get there first banged off each other, metal rang out against metal, as pensioners saw the middle aged men swear and curse each other. Red faced and trying to grasp the French sticks, both manage to get two each but there were the other two. Eyes glinted murder and avarice as each breaded baton became weaponised, whirling into deadly rapiers. Poking, stabbing, swiping each other, crumbs and bread shrapnel flew, slicing face and arms with deadly accuracy until there was nothing but damaged stumps of bread. They then grabbed hardened scotch rolls to use as grenade against each other which finally turned into medieval morning stars of bagged sliced bread. Pounding each other into submission. As they fell to the floor in exhaustion and embarrassed confusion it came clear that the bakery aisle had become a yeast infused snowstorm which the security guard did not see as amusing or picturesque.
“Always this time of year. Cant wait for the sprout Battle tomorrow”