Where the husband suggests a chain saw to slice my home baked bread

I have been out this morning to get ingredients for baking cakes this afternoon and have just unpacked several carrier bags. I had forgotten to take the bags out of the boot of the car and had  to face the eco-warrior princess who works on the till at the local supermarket. When the dread moment came and she said, loudly so everyone in the queue hears, "Do you have any bags?" I had to shake my head in shame.

She wears Birkenstock sandals, long flowing dresses, dreadlocks and no bra. She is to be avoided at all costs if you are bag-less as it is a crime against humanity right up there with not using the right recycling bin, which can get you life without parole, if our County Council finds out.

It will be something of  a marathon baking session this afternoon as The Husband says I always take on too much once I get enthusiastic about something,  and so I need to get cracking.  I'm going to visit some family in Manchester tomorrow and will be taking cakes. At one time family and friends expected me to show up clutching a designer handbag, now people don't recognise me without a lemon drizzle or carrot cake stuffed in my hand.
Between you and me, I'll have to get everything baked before The Husband gets home from work and stash the evidence in the boot of my car, to avoid a repeat of the hissy fit he had at Christmas.
"Don't know what you're getting so cross about," I said, "just because I've made a teeny weeny few Christmas cakes."
"Wait a second," he said pointing to the mountain of tins stacked on top of the cupboard. "You've made a cake for," he began to count on his fingers, "your Mum and Dad, Sister,  Niece, Bee, Kitty, Tasha, Aunty Gladys,  the children, step children, hairdresser, Postman Fred....13 cakes...",
"It's supposed to be the season of good will." I interrupted.
"...and about 8 dozen sweet mince pies," he continued opening our over stuffed freezer,  "not forgetting the 48 jars of Clementine chutney, 36 jars of Christmas Jam, 16 plum puddings and enough gingerbread cookies to cause a world ginger shortage, in the cupboard under the stairs."
"We might get visitors," I said weekly.
"Who are you expecting, the entire County?"

I've decided not to bake any bread after the weekend.  I think maybe I forgot to add some minor ingredient to the new recipe, say liquid for example, which may be because Bee called in the middle of the process and I got side tracked. This happened once before and I started making a white sauce for a lasagane and after trying to cook and talk about shoes at the same time, I thought I was doing custard and ended up making a trifle.

Anyway, at the weekend The Husband was working in the garden tidying up the hedges and pruning trees and so I gave him a shout and said would he like a ploughman's sandwich with the loaf I was making.
.
"Will you look at that," I said as I attempted to slice it and the bread knife, which we have had for donkey's years, suddenly suffered from metal fatigue and the blade and handle separated with a loud crack.
"Hmmm," said The Husband picking the loaf up up and tapping it on the bench top, "back in a moment, I've got the very thing."  He returned seconds later with his Black and Decker chain saw.
"If this doesn't work," he said cheerfully, " don't worry it won't go to waste, I've a gap in the dry stone wall at the bottom of the garden and this looks about the right size."