Bread and cheese

Talking about being mentally scarred - Jan asked me to pop out for some bread rolls today, pointing out that a nice lump of a really good Lancashire cheese needed eating.
I pointed out that after 15 years of 'marriage' I would have thought that she'd have realised that I rarely eat bread with cheese. An issue that stems from my childhood. From my Italian mother's attempts at making sandwiches.
Don't forget an Italian (in her day) hadn't really come across the notion of a sandwich. My mother's attempts at packed lunches  involved half a loaf of badly cut bread with several pounds of cheese in the middle producing a cheese sandwich about four inches thick.
As a growing lad I tried my best to eat them but the first mouthful was always the start of the problem. That first mouthful congealed into a solid, flat paste and stuck to the roof of my mouth and was really difficult to shift. Given the time it took to release said mess from the top of and around my mouth, lunch-time had finished and it was impossible to eat any more. I went back to class still hungry.
It was the start of my psychosis.