Satisfying
I love my Sunday morning breakfast ritual of poached eggs, orange juice and a double-shot flat white, even if it does tend to make me late for church. As spring evolves into summer, I'm having it out in the garden, sitting on a battered bentwood chair at my worn old jarrah table, listening to jazz and birdsong, enjoying the greenery and flowers.
Usually I just have the weekend paper, replete with faux-sophisticated journalistic froth. This time I decided to splash out on something with genuine sophisticated journalistic froth.
Usually I just have the weekend paper, replete with faux-sophisticated journalistic froth. This time I decided to splash out on something with genuine sophisticated journalistic froth.
posted by Blandwagon at 5:48 PM
1 Comments:
That looks damn fine. Shame horses don't like poached eggs or I'd go and whip up some of that gear right now, if I could only pick up the frying pan with my hoof. Yes, it's true, your blog is being stalked at this moment by a young horse. You just got me going with that hunky emo colt from flickr, what can I say, so shoot me. No don't, actually.
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