The calendar has transcended time. It no longer shows days or hours; it displays constellations. Each star is an appointment, each galaxy a meeting. I opened it this morning to find the Orion constellation rearranged into the word “Toastie.” The inbox has joined in, sending me emails from addresses like truffleprophecy@cosmicmail.com. Each message contained only one phrase: “The end is cheese.”

The drizzle has become planetary. It no longer falls from the sky; it orbits. Rings of mist circle the house, tidal waves of dampness surge through the streets, and the moon itself appears swollen with condensation. Indoors, the damp has taken on a rhythm, dripping in sync with the stars. I swear I heard the fridge hum in Gregorian chant.

And then there’s the driveway. Today’s deposit was monumental: a slab shaped like a planet, orbiting smaller pellets like moons. Embedded in the spiral were flecks of truffle, glistening black against the damp. I stood there in the planetary drizzle, staring at it, and the calendar pulsed again: “Toastie.” The driveway has become cosmic. It knows the sandwiches before I do, and now it speaks in symbols of endings and beginnings.

Today’s sandwich is Melt & Mirth’s Triple Cheese & Truffle Toastie.

Cheddar, brie, stilton, truffle oil, chutney, sourdough.

The sourdough is golden and crisp, its edges blistered, its interior soft and yielding. Inside, molten rivers of cheddar, brie, and stilton flow together, their flavours clashing and harmonising in equal measure. Truffle oil adds depth, earthy and intoxicating, a note of decadence that overwhelms the senses. Chutney cuts through with sharp sweetness, sticky and bright, clinging to the molten cheese.

The first bite is apocalyptic. The cheddar is sharp, the brie creamy, the stilton pungent, the truffle intoxicating. It’s not balanced; it’s not restrained. It’s a sandwich that leans into excess, a bite of pure festive collapse. Eating it while planetary drizzle orbits and the driveway delivers cosmic omens feels uncanny. The Triple Cheese & Truffle Toastie doesn’t just distract from the chaos; it embodies it, a sandwich that tastes like inevitability.

Tomorrow, the driveway will speak again. The calendar will write new constellations. The drizzle will surge in new rhythms. But for now, the toastie offers a moment of clarity — a bite that feels like destiny, carved in dampness, prophecy, and cheese.