Once upon a time there was a land, and in it lived lots and lots of bread.
There were teacakes and rolls and loaves and pitas all living in harmony.
Then one day the King of the land – a rather stale old loaf called Hovis
– decided that is was time to find out who was the best type of bread and so he called a contest.
All the types of bread were to send a representative to a huge arena and there they would be put through their paces until a winner was announced.
Great excitement spread throughout the land as all the bread trained and prepared their teams for the great day.
Who would it be? Malt loaf? Or maybe the croissants (who, despite being a type of pastry were allowed in because this is JUST A STORY)?
The events were challenging, Hovis had designed them that way. Soon enough teams started to drop out – Tescos Value Bread was beaten by Kingsmill, who in turn was beaten by a lovely Dutchy Originals Organic.
Soon, the arena was packed out with spectators who saw the muffins get put out by the crumpets in the 100-yard dash. Hotdog rolls coped admirably in the javelin event, but they were eventually knocked out by the similar-looking sub-roll team.
And so the final approached.
Up against it and fighting for the title were chapattis, French-sticks, scones, naans and seeded baps. The event: A marathon.
The starting pistol was fired and the crowd went wild. The favourite to win were the French-sticks, surely the long loaf would trounce the competition?
The race was hard and the competing loaves were in a terrible state as they approached the finish line. It was neck and neck, the chapattis just beating the French-sticks, followed by the naans. It was the race to end all races, the Indian bread fanatics were jumping up and down in their seats, shouting for their two representatives to win! Win! WIN!
The cheers filled the stadium, flags were flown, pancakes fainted with the thrill of it all.
Finally, it was over.
The crowd went wild. And then… silence. As over the tannoy it was announced that it was a photo finish.
The French-stick was jubilant. He had surely won! He was proud and aerodynamic, how could he have lost? But then he looked at the chapatti, exhausted but looking fine and fit and the French-stick started to worry, maybe the chapatti had won? But the judges announced that the chapatti had come third.
So in the end it turned out that although he didn’t win, the French-stick was second to naan.
(and really it wasn’t worth reading).