It was, too

Saturday January 28, 2006

A bright, cold, frosty morning, one to get the juices flowing unless you’re stuck indoors. Fortunately for me I had inescapable business first thing in Spilsby so I leapt out, scraped the ice off the car—now I understand why it has a heated windshield, and am very grateful for it—and set off in fine fettle.

Business done, I was striding back through the town, avoiding the icy patches on the pavement, and wondering what to do with this strange feeling of hunger early of a morning. Too early for fish’n’chips, not that I’d have wanted that. Nor did I particularly fancy an English breakfast.

Nothing for it, then, but to take a short diversion, buy fresh baked croissants, take them home and pig out there.

I bought croissants sufficient for two, of course, because I knew full well that the very sight of them, leave alone the drool-generating aroma that rose from the paper bag would get Graham going, too.

“Mmmm! Croissants!” he said. “Get your coat off, do, and I’ll make coffee so’s we can enjoy them properly.”

“Good thinking, bat person.”

And enjoy them is what we did, sitting at the dining table in the streaming sunshine and feeling all was right with our world.

It was, too.

 

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