Last night Lovely Anna and I had what was supposed to be a fairly tame night out, but in fact turned into drinking and dancing in Derby's Cuban salsa bar until 3am. So this morning (surprise surprise) I'm feeling a little delicate. Again. Which will no doubt prompt moaning from my mum later that I appear to have reverted back to my early 20s now I'm single. And to be fair, she might have a point.
In addition to the above, I'm facing a tough day today. I have a huge metal king-sized bedframe to dismantle and somehow coax into the back of my car - a feat which I suspect could reduce me to tears at some point over the next couple of hours. Or could actually just turn out to be physically impossible.
So I drove back from Anna's this morning mentally cooking a full English breakfast - only to discover when I got home that I was missing half of the ingredients. And of course the only place close enough to pop into for Lynda McCartney sausages, tomatoes and mushrooms, that opens on a Sunday, is the local Co-Op.
So below is the sad little breakfast that I've ended up with - scrambled egg and bake beans on rubbish brown sliced bread from the freezer.
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