I'm about to have two burnt croissants for breakfast. I've just rescued them from the oven. It amazes me how quickly I start to fall apart when Bud's away - reverting to old habits of eating irregularly, not bothering to cook properly for myself, going to bed at 2am and blogging while I burn the croissants. (Well that's a new habit actually, as I didn't use to blog at all). I mean, for 90% of my adult life I've been living on my own and able to manage quite well, thank you - or, at least, you'd think so if you were looking in from the outside. But I suppose if I'm honest, I've never had things jogging along quite as regularly as in the last three years. Mealtimes are quite a regular fixture, along with watching the eight o' clock news - which I don't do either when he's not here!
So now he's not here to complain loudly about my latest culinary failure, I shall go off and jolly well ENJOY my singed croissants, thank you very much. These aren't burnt, they're just a little dark, that's all. And I have two left in the packet to try and make a better job of tomorrow.
Just before I go - I'm letting them cool off a little - I do have to say that blogging before breakfast on a Saturday morning is rather nice. One of the little freedoms of having the place to myself. I've been over to see Rachel, Rebecca, Petite Anglaise - who's got no fewer than 90 comments, including several that would make me turn the comments off, on her 'confession' about a new love that's taking her away from Mr. Frog and tadpole - and, via one of the 90 comments, this one that's worth a look: JohnnyB's private secret diary.
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