Bread and Butter
If it's too expensive, let them eat cake.
Ah, he likes bread and butter
Ah, he likes toast and jam
That’s what his baby feeds him
Ah, he′s her loving man
Writers: Larry Parks, Jay Turnbow.
Our daily bread.
When I was about 18, I had my first job beyond those at high school, such as delivering newspapers or cleaning schools, which had been my previous ones. A couple of mates and I were working at a kiwifruit orchard, tying vines down.
One day, when I got home after a day’s work, I recall my mother smiling and essentially welcoming me to the working world, saying, “It’s all about earning your daily bread”.
It’s stuck with me all these years later, that concept of a fair day’s pay for a day’s hard work. That you sign up to a social contract where you work hard and you get what you need to pay your bills in return.
It’s easy to understand that arrangement, but somewhere over the decades since I was a young man, that contract has been torn up.
Last night, I saw one of your fellow readers comment about having their parents come to stay, and how delighted the visitors had been to find that there was Vogels for the toaster and butter to spread. She asked how it had come to this.
A good question. How the hell has it come to this? Isn’t this supposed to be a land of milk and honey, with some of the finest produce in the world? How is it that many now see buttered toast as a luxury to feel grateful for?
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