Britain 2014. A nation that is in the grip of a million types of crisis. Need and want is evident wherever your eyes dare to wander. Today though, a new, desperate voice has been heard. A voice that roars, ‘Who will babysit my sourdough starter?’
To the uninitiated, this sounds like the confused howl of a lunatic but in fact a sourdough starter must be ‘fed’. You can’t just bang one out in a few hours like it’s a white tin loaf or something, you fucking tit. Jesus. Something something yeast, something something bacteria – OBVIOUSLY.
If you’re lucky enough to have a job or go on holiday, you’re screwed. As with a cat or dog, the sourdough starter needs to be nurtured, otherwise it’ll die. And like a dead cat or dog, the stink will soon become unbearable and there’ll be maggots everywhere. Probably.
Just like ghoulish, silver-topped human penis Paul Hollywood, we’re stuck with the cult of the sourdough starter, and it could be a 2015 election-winning issue.
Victory might hinge on whether Cameron or Miliband have the (dough) balls to introduce paid paternity leave for fathers of sourdough starters (because it’s mostly blokes, right?). At the very least, free nursery places for fledgling sourdough starters will surely be on the agenda.
Meanwhile, UKIP will dodge the issue as it’s too modern and weird, and a newly-independent Scotland will be immune, too concerned with fully utilising its shortbread mountain.
Britain 2014. A nation that is up to its neck in bread trends and can’t stop. A nation that has become an artisan bakery junkie, forever chasing that next, more elaborate, hit.
A nation that needs to get a fucking grip and just send off for some sea monkeys instead.