Our Daily Bread

There used to be no fewer than 50 bakeries between our house and the Plain roundabout, just a mile down the road into Oxford - every street had its own.

Now there is only one left - in fact, Gibbons', round the corner on Hertford Street, is the last remaining independent bakery in Oxford. This weekend there was a wonderfully friendly breakfast at the Mary & John primary school opposite the bakery, where we broke bread with our neighbours.

This fab little place is celebrated in an excellent 10 minute audio play, interspersing the perspective of the lady who still bakes the bread with her husband with one of the new, university-types - who I suppose represents the 'apologetic gentrification' due to the likes of us.

They talk about the weather - the baker tells of the cold, dark mornings, when the only people around are she and her husband kneading - and the nuns over the road, kneeling. She also claims that atmospheric conditions affecting the behaviour of her yeast, with her deepest, most flavoursome bakes coming after stormy nights.

For the younger lady it's more about her stormy emotional life, and how she found solace in the ritual of her daily visit to the shop, and in breaking bread in the company of friends.

Appropriately, company comes from the Latin: 'com' (with) and 'panio' (bread).