By: Blonde Two
You can probably imagine what a ‘Life Expedition’ sandwich looks like. If you can’t, it looks a bit like the one above …
It took Blonde One and I a long time to debate which would be the bread and which the filling (we had a lot of time available for discussion this week). We have got it right now (I think!)
The bread is ‘life’ (well that sounds Biblical). Life as in, the things that you have to do to survive. You know the sort of stuff: Go to work, earn money, pay the mortgage, feed the kids (luckily all Blonde kids are currently feeding themselves!)
The filling is ‘expedition’ (in this case Ten Tors training). Expedition as in, the things that make you excited, that switch you on and make you feel more alive. Just as some of us prefer egg mayonnaise to cheese and pickle, fillings are different for each person.
The thing about sandwiches is that not all of them are that easy to eat. Take, for example a ‘Life-Expedition’ sandwich that goes like this (no, I have no idea why the bread is purplish either):
Day One – work, Day Two – work, Day Three – work, Day Four – work, Day Five – work.
Day Six – Expedition – Wild Camp, Day Seven – Expedition.
Day Eight – work, Day Nine – work, Day Ten – work, Day Eleven – work, Day Twelve – work, Wild Camp.
Day Thirteen – Expedition.
Day Fourteen – Catch up with missed work.
Day Fifteen – work, Day Sixteen – work, Day Seventeen – work, Day Eighteen – work, Day Nineteen – work.
There are two ways of dealing with difficult sandwiches: The first is to throw them away and go for an apple instead. The second is to start at the edge and keep munching right through the centre until you reach the other edge.
You watch, we Blondes have done it before and we can munch this ‘Life – Expedition’ sandwich again!
The metaphor seems a bit strained, if you’ll forgive me. But it did cause a small earworm to wriggle:
Bread of Heaven!
Bread of Heaven!
I will ever bring to Thee.
Sung by a choir rich in tenors and therefore almost certainly Welsh. Leading to a sense of exclusion on my part since my music teacher types me as a baritone. Leading therefrom to the difficulties of postulating any plausible form of heaven given that my ciabatta may be your Mother’s Pride. Ending up with a major defining question: why is it that I can take the tomato and lettuce from a sandwich and eat them separately, but detest the textural sensation of eating them together with a mouthful of bread?
Here’s a slogan you may care to consider: Come to Two Blondes Walking and disport oneself in the Allusion Playground.
Closer to reality than you may think Robbie. I suspect spying! When you share a minibus with a Welshman, sooner or later you will end up singing said hymn with gusto.
I’m exhausted just reading about it! Funny thing is, it reminds me of events long drowned in the muddy waters of time.
By the way, has anyone else noticed how the sliced loaf (dreaded item) has been re-graded? Thin sliced vanished long ago; but medium sliced now has thick slices and thick sliced has – well – you certainly wouldn’t want to make sandwiches from them unless you had hippopotamus jaws.