Breakfasts Fifty-Four, Five, Six and Seven

No 54: Coco Pops. No 55: Scrambled Eggs and Smoked Salmon.
No 56: Toast and Nutella. No 57: Banoffee Pie.

I've been on ever-so-jolly a jaunt to Wales, where all sorts of high jinx were had. There was no t'internet though, hence the lack of posts -- though, no breakfasts were missed. I was there with Miss Shelley of the Peculiar Presents, and a couple of Messrs. The weather was glorious; the beaches were perfect. It was so sunny, in fact, that ice cream was necessary. In March. (Sun in Wales, much as in Scotland, is a fairly seismic sort of a happening, so I consider myself very fortunate indeed.)

I learned to play Yahtzee, was beaten miserably in San Franciso-opoly, and used up all my letters in Scrabble with "treating." And in one of life's odder coincidences, I bumped into my godmother's husband -- who lives in London -- at Portmerion, an Italianate Village in North Wales.

Now I'm back in grey Edinburgh, and my bedroom smells of hops. I left my window open when I left and it seems the beer brewing smell has wafted my way... Gah.