Why Do You Hate England?

This is the answer delivered to me by my darling husband to the innocent question, "What is it with you people and toast racks?" We were having Full English Breakfast (mine vegetarian, his loaded with odd-looking meats) in the international departures lounge at Gatwick Saturday morning. "Why do you hate England?" was his reply and I nearly choked on my Heinz beans I was laughing so hard.

For those of you who don't know what I'm talking about, this is a toast rack:

It's a nifty-looking little thing, I suppose, but entirely unnecessary in my estimation. Who wants cold, dry toast? You want warm, buttery toast, the slices nestled together on a plate, oozing their warm butteriness onto each other, not hard slabs of toasted and unbuttered bread neatly ordered, heaven forbid they should touch. I've been asking this question for years and I've never gotten a satisfactory answer. If you know why the English are mad for their toast racks, please do let me know.

So, we're home now and we're both back to work today though thoroughly jetlagged. That's another thing I don't understand. Going to Europe I hit the ground running. Sure, I go to bed early the first night generally and then wake up fine and ready to go. Coming home is a body clock nightmare. Nigel was up at 2am yesterday and I was up at 4. I fell asleep during The Sopranos around 7pm. It must be God's way of reminding us that we've just been on a lovely vacation and now it's time to go back to the grind. ::sigh::