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Known, of course, to uber-fans of the group as just "The Bread", the music of the sixties just wouldn't have sounded the same without them.

Their unique "stale roll" beat was seminal in forming the careers of so many musical artists, mostly after they had given up music and become, say, painters and decorators, and needed something mindless to paint along to.

Stadia around the world all responded as one when asked to host the 1967 tour, "Loaf Loaf Me Do", with a jointly signed letter. It suggested the band should never apply again or suffer the consequences.

Undeterred, the band put on the smaller "All Or Muffin" tour in the local town hall played to hardcore fans, some of which were switched on. It ran for nearly a whole show.

We should be grateful then, for their contribution to our quotidian basket of life; amazingly, we are not.

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Once there was a young woman who was discontented with her home life. Her name was Briselda.

In those days (and perhaps, not so very differently these days) her mother expected her to help around the house, to cook, to clean and to tidy. Her father expected her to darn his socks and comb his beard and polish his boots. Even her brothers expected her to make them tea, to fetch their coats, to make their beds.

Worse, none of them ever thought about Briselda as a person, about whether she had a mind of her own or thoughts or feelings. She was just a skivvy. Is it any wonder she wanted to leave home and make her own way in the world! But how?

One day, at her weekly shopping expedition at the market, she saw an old ramshackle building tucked down an alleyway. She'd never noticed it before (which, as it was a magical building that only appeared for an hour, once a week, you may find unsurprising).

After she had bought the apples and the cheese and the bread and the cider, and after she had dropped off the boots for mending and the scissors for sharpening and the broom for rebristling, well, there was barely ten minutes left before she had to start for home.

Briselda used her ten minutes to explore the new building.

She pushed open the door, silently, trying not to make a sound for fear someone would snap or shout or scold, because that's all she had ever known.

But there was nobody inside; the big room was warm and inviting, and full of books.

Briselda, of course, had never seen a book in her life, and she certainly couldn't read. So she sighed a little, and turned to go - this, along with almost everywhere else, was no place for a girl.

But open on the table, was one handsome leather bound book.

Its parchment pages with beautifully written, handsome, utterly delicious words seemed to call her over, beckoning to her mind.

Briselda went and glanced at it.

To her surprise, although she couldn't read, she somehow seemed to hear the words. They told a tale of magic and history, of kingdoms long gone and still to come. They told of philosophers and kings, of serving maids and farmers, of animals and trees and...the ten minutes was up.

As if the book knew it, the words stopped coming into her mind. But the last words Briselda caught were the truly magical "Next week...".

The week was long and drear, as always, but now Briselda had something to look forward to. Sure enough, the following Wednesday, she found herself with a few spare minutes after her market chores, and once again she visited the library.

She learned of spells and chants, she learned of dances and music. She learned and learned and learned.

After a few weeks, Briselda knew she had to leave her family home, and make her own way in the world. Her mind was open and teeming with new possibilities.

Her family were horrified!

Her mother shouted. Her father cursed. Her bothers derided and poked and jeered. A girl? Alone in the world? Well, be off with you then, and good luck to you.

Weeping, Briselda knew she had to go, though it was a hard thing to do. But she packed her bag and left the family home, walking along a new path in the woods she had never taken before.

There were turns and twists. There was a canyon to cross and a river to ford and rain to endure. It was a hard, hard journey.

At last, she turned a corner - and there, through a gap in the trees was a castle.

It was attractive, and Briselda thought this must be her new life, waiting for her. She smiled and stepped forward briskly.

But just on the side of the road was a wizened little old man.

"Stop, my dear. Now, where do you think you're going?"

"The castle", said Briselda, still rather meekly (though she was working on that).

"You won't get in there without giving the answer to the gatekeeper!", said the little man.

"Answer? To what?" asked Briselda.

"Why, to The Riddle of course!", replied the little man. "Would you like to hear it?"

And without waiting, he chanted

A little red coat
A little wood stick
A stone in my throat
I'm lovely to pick
What am I?

I think the little old man thought Briselda, ignorant as she was, would give up at this, and probably weep, and throw her apron over her head, and run home wailing.

But you and I know that Briselda was clever now, and knew a thing or two about the world. She smiled, and turned, even more determined to get into the castle. And she knew that once there she would become a success and start a new life, and run a business and be married happily and have amazing strong and clever daughters (and perhaps one son, just to make the tea).

Briselda soon saw what the riddle meant, and now she had the answer ready for the gatekeeper.

Do you?

Tags:   ai stable diffusion artificial intelligence ai art SDForge Flux-Dev

© All Rights Reserved

Tags:   ai stable diffusion artificial intelligence ai art SDForge Flux-Dev

© All Rights Reserved

Tags:   ai stable diffusion artificial intelligence ai art SDForge Flux-Dev

© All Rights Reserved