Now that's what I call a real breakfast. Duchy sausages (grateful thanks to the marauding Celtic visitors), eggs from Riccardo and Peddy from The Intrepid One.
I was celebrating Genoa's fantastic 3-1 win over Roma yesterday evening.
Just the job. Yum yum, pig's bum.
8 comments:
That's more like it. Do you want me to send out Colman's Mustard? Jar or powder in tin?
Pedi for breakfast! What a man. I'm a little off it for a while. Felt the Grim Reaper creeping up on me yesterday. Must have been overdoing it.
A genuine breakfast of champions.
Scrambled eggs look good. Very easy to overcook I find. Actually, it all looks good, and I speak as one who's just seen off four very well kept pints of Pride at Old Parr's Head, Blythe Rd. W14, in the company of Simon The Barman. Very lovely drift to the evening. Hic.
Alice? Doesn't live here anymore, apparently.
...all wrapped up in chewing gum!
Nomacorc defo exhibits at Sac. Symposium. I have it on good authority from a cellar master that all the big dogs attend, biggest and best in US.
Vinogirl: thanks for your advice, looks like we'll be there too.
Lord Ashley: powder in tin please, travels better.
Intrepid One: poof
Thud: praise indeed
Fred: good boy!
If you get to sac...say hello to vinogirl...they have some rather special wine.
I have to thank you.
Recently I used the word "brekker" in an email to a blogging buddy in India. He asked me to explain it. Thinking perhaps it was just an Indian thing (no brekker there), or that I had perhaps spelled it incorrectly, I googled it.
I checked several online dictionaries.
I began to worry.
With a dawning horror, I came to suspect I had dreamed the word, and was going to have to confess I'd made it up.
But low and behold - here it is. It seems you and I are the only two people in the universe to use it, and for that small comfort, I thank you!
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