Bread cuts. I picked up half a loaf of day-old bread only to find myself shrieking like a surprised marmot upon feeling the crust deliver a ¼ inch gash between my thumb and index finger. I didn’t expect a half-eaten bun to fight back with such fervour and I’m not quite sure that’s proper behaviour for supermarket-bought food. I wonder what they’ve been putting into flour these days. Anyway, the idea of bread cutting me sounds like a Yakov Smirnoff joke.