Two eyes closed.
Two hands reach for the window.
One curtain drawn.
9.31 am. One and a half eyes open.
First lie in for weeks and am jolly well going to milk it for all it's worth. Here I lie, conciously still so not to move position from the warm me-shaped mold in bed.
9.35 am. Roll out, and creep downstairs with bed hair and twisted pijamas, for a hot cup of Earl Grey. Kettle boils. Water in large mug, tea bag in, tea bag out, drop of milk, mug in hand.
Back up I go and crawl into the already cooled bed sheets.
9. 45 am. Flick to find last read page of After The Fire, A Still Small Voice by Evie Wyld. Page 99, Chapter 6.
I'll be damned if I poached eggs and marmite aren't included in this morning's non-activity.
ADD A SPLASH OF WHITE WINE VINEGAR
SPIN UP WATER WITH SPOON FOR WHIRLPOOL EFFECT
SLOWLY DROP IN FREE RANGE EGG
POP TOAST IN
WAIT 3 MINS TIL WHITE HAS FIRMED AROUND YOLK
BUTTER AND MARMITE THE TOAST
PLACE EGG ON TOP
SPRINKLE OF SALT AND PEPPER
Sunday Times essential - if not only to look at the pictures.
This little piggy goes to market...
Walk down into town to make the most of the reluctant splashes of blue sky between Northern grey cloud blanket. Sun out, steamy breath, cold nose.
12.30 am. Arrival at the Farmers Market after hurling self at Christmas shoppers.
Taste this, taste that,
"E'S GOOD AT T'GAB INT'E THAT ONE"
90% locally reared BEEF
4% RUSK (breadcrumbs)