FURIOUS is not the word for it. Livid would come closer, apoplectic would be most spot on, but I fear that language is inadequate to capture with perfect accuracy the state of annoyance and dismay I have felt this week at the state of the nation in general and our daily bread in particular. It is I am sure you will agree, time to call a halt. Enough is enough and while it is frequently claimed, as good as a feast, more than enough is definitely superabundance.

I'm sorry if I am being somewhat incoherent, but my tidy view of the universe has been shattered this week by an unsolicited bread delivery. Let me explain.

Quite some time ago, I came across a copy of Leith's baking bible and decided it was time to hone my bread-making skills to perfection. After flexing my kneading muscles for some months on Mrs. Leith's recipes, I began to experiment until I was confident that I had produced the perfect loaf. With a handful of fresh basil, some sun-dried tomatoes and the accompanying olive oil added to the dough, the result was a loaf far better than anything I had ever bought in the shops.

My lunchtime sandwiches rose from a mere means to stave off starvation to a gourmet treat, and a new bounce came into my stride, reflecting the added the confidence that perfect home baking can bring to one's life. Even supermarket shopping became a treat as I strode scornfully past the racks of ready-made loaves to fetch my own do-it-yourself kit of flour and yeast.

Indeed, my confidence was so high that even when a sample of Donald Russell's Specialty Bread selection arrived at my desk, I did not feel in any way threatened. I assumed that someone had told Mr. Russell of my bread-making skills and he was seeking advice. The pack contained Country Seed Bread, Spelt Whole Grain Bread, Woodsman Box Bread, Dark Gourmet Rye, Farmhouse, and Grain Valley Farmer's Bread, and not a trace of sun-dried tomatoes or basil anywhere. So I could see perfectly that the fellow would benefit from my experience.

At the very least, I thought, I could offer some advice to steer clear of bread-making. Indeed, I wondered what the chaps at Donald Russell were up to. Everyone knows they produce the best meat on the planet, hanging their best Scottish beef for a minimum of 28 days to improve its succulence, and producing tasty cuts of dead sheep, pigs and deer and who knows what else to match the excellence of their cows. So why should they tread on the toes of us bakers?

Thus it was in a mood of puzzlement that I un-wrapped their frozen loaves and bunged them into the oven for the statutory 25 minutes- and they were absolutely delicious, with a deep rich flavor that - dare I say it? My own bread lacks. The world, I fear, is not what it was. Only a few years ago, if you wanted a job done properly, you called in a specialist. The gas man read the gas meter; the electricity man reads the electric meter; the postman delivered the post; the milkman delivered the milk; Richard Branson sold gramophone records. Now the gas people bring us electricity; the milkman sells orange juice; the postman has not been seen for days; and Branson sells flights, phones, condoms and cola. And the meat men make bread.

And they do it better than I do. I just cannot stand being beaten by amateurs.

Daily Express