Breakfast the Two-Hundred-and-Fifty-Fifth

Pumpkin pie (told you)

I am locked in a seemingly never-ending battle against crumbs at the moment. This is because I live with a lovely chap (in all other respects) who comes home late at night and -- I can only assume --plants a small IED inside a cereal packet, places this in the middle of the sitting room, and stands back to watch Crunchy Nut Cornflake confetti cover everything in sight.

I am 99.9999999999% sure that he doesn't read this blog, otherwise I shouldn't post this, as I'm pretty sure this is absolutely the most passive-aggressive way of informing a flatmate of a gripe. If not, I can only apologise and invite you to exact some revenge by leaving a petty note about something I do... (My money is on leaving soap scum in the bathroom: I have a high tolerance for such things).

Still, it could be worse, I once lived with someone who insisted on hiding anything useful (like salt and pepper) in the cupboards, but left a trail of breadcrums, jam splodges, dirty wooden spoons etc in his wake.  I will never understand how he could have the impulse to tidy teabags away in a cupboard (not helpful at all as they're much more useful by the kettle) but be completely unmoved by the sight of a crumb-covered kitchen table.