October 2025 - Entrant

Jam on toast is a ceremonial occasion for me. A particular jam has to be spread a certain type of way on toast specifically made to order. I would know, I own a jam factory. Neither my staff, nor my partner understand it, in fact they mock me. Especially after the last incident! They wouldn’t mock me if they dared to try it themselves. 

Let me explain. I grab my favourite jam straight off the production line, the strawberry one, with pieces. It has to be fresh off the line before anyone even touches the jar. That’s where the magic is! I cut two slices of a fresh loaf of bread, a generous 3cm thick, don’t be shy now! The toaster setting is adjusted and in goes the bread. Once I smell that slight burning, my toast is ready. I sit at my desk, toast on plate and I twist that jar open. Something about the turn of the lid awakens an inner joy in my soul! I generously dollop jam on one slice of toast, spreading it so it starts to peek eagerly over the crust edges. 

Then I hear it, a cacophonous harried mess of a noise. What is going on? I jump up, almost knocking my plate, toast and jam over as I rush to the window of my office. I can’t quite tell; a huddle of people are blocking the view. They’re gathered around someone or something. The din of their voices continues as I fling open my door and hurry across the factory floor. 

Harry has left the main door open again, I think, as I feel a fresh blast of air across my face. Can’t worry about that now; I have to find out what’s got everyone in a bother. I rush over and squeeze myself into the crowd, proceeding to look down, just as they all are. There’s a glove on the floor. Black and scrunched up, but it’s a glove alright, a lone glove at that. 

I am so confused. Is that all? I look up and there’s my marriage counsellor. Now, I am even more confused, what could they possibly want? My staff continue to stare at this glove while exclaiming in disbelief. None of them know where it’s come from nor who’s glove it could be. Quietly my marriage counsellor starts to talk, I struggle to hear them at first. I lean in ever so slightly with an ever-increasing look of confusion on my face. They start to point in the direction of my office while mouthing the words again. One by one, my staff quieten and turn to look just in time to see the glorious sight. 

Sure enough there’s that darned blue-footed booby, with my damned toast in its beak, yet again! 

Harry rushes to close the factory door. Alas, he is too late! The gorgeous specimen of a bird flies through and out into the open air. With my jam toast! 

When will I ever learn!