To be young was very bliss.In the cafe people are breakfasting. It is the sort of food that I can no longer afford to eat or want to eat. A man with a florid face, a loose plaid jacket over a tee shirt and a beeny on his head, is eating eggs, bacon, sausage, fried bread, with an expression of immense contentment. As he chews, he holds his knife and fork at the ready for the next assault on his plate. While entirely without envy, I find that I am sharing a little in his pleasure.
Eight new oak saplings have appeared in one corner of The Grove. This little park is and will continue to be a place of trees.
1 comment:
Perhaps you should try some young fried oaks, done with a knob of butter and a minced basil leaf.
Breakfast carries a lot of baggage these days. It may provide smug proof that one gets up early enough to consume it: on the other hand a Full English (so popular many caffs offer it all day) must be the riskiest and greasiest indulgence regularly available. I indulge perhaps two or three times a year. Fried bread which must be the cheapest constituent also seems to be the rarest. Tomatoes (usually tinned if it's a caff) always struck me as guilty tokenism.
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