Breakfast fit for… A really pathetic, unloved, King. 

There are some things which we realise that, *maybe*, we bang on about quite a lot.  The state of our hair (frizzy, unkempt, disgraceful);  the non-stop sweating (sweaty, sticky, unpleasant);  the less-than Californian produce.  Generally, we are at peace with the latter – WE LIVE ON THE EQUATOR!  EVERYTHING HAS TO BE IMPORTED! – but sometimes, especially if we have carried ourselves and our dreadful hair across fourteen, sweat-filled miles, we have a bit of a weep.  Because in a perfect world, breakfast would be our friend.  Not something which we suspect is plotting our downfall…

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