The most important meal of the day.
When I think of my idealised self, number one, my hair is thicker. Then place me and my tousled hair in a contemplative breeze, overlooking a canyon or the Eiffel Tower or an ancient Mayan ruin on the top of a mountain that you can only access by climbing over the back of an unbroken string of mules. I’m wearing a fashionable yet utilitarian parka, and i’m taking photos to send back to my model friends who are on shoot in Milan. My eyes are crinkled with humour, and you know that the faint webbing of wrinkles each represents a personal triumph. Because I am a worldly man, who travels the globe with hair so thick that it can speak.
|That’s meant to be the Eiffel Tower, not a power station.|
But there’s a reason why I will never be my idealised self. And that’s because my idea of a perfect day is not hang gliding off the coliseum into an art gallery to high-five the ghost of Renoir. No. My perfect day is sitting in my house with a good book and eating breakfast ALL DAY.
There is nothing so fine as the multi-part, segmented breakfast. You start off with something bland, like weetbix, because I find it hard to deal with complex tastes early in the morning. Then some fruit. Then exorbitant amounts of coffee. Then you go crazy – yoghurt, or perhaps some kind of waffle. This far-out lifestyle continues all the way through lunch, or as I like to call it, the working mans breakfast. The poor cousin of breakfast. The unfulfilling Pokemon evolution – Breakfast has evolved in Lunch? It is wildly disappointing.
|LUNCH uses SANDWICH. It has become UNCOMFORTABLY LARGE.|
If you have exactly what it takes to fully commit to breakfast, you can continue all the way into night-breakfast, commonly known as dinner. Night-breakfast is great, because you can drink breakfast wine. Then again, breakfast wine can happen at any time. True story, me and Bridget once spent a week asking wineries what they would recommend for a breakfast wine. Most of them recommended sparkling wine, anything with a fizz.
|TOO MUCH BREAKFAST|
LACK OF STARS
My love of many breakfasts means that even on the most pedestrian, working day, I usually have at least a second breakfast. And that makes me a hobbit. And I don’t want to be a hobbit. I want to be an elf. But they probably don’t eat breakfast, they probably absorb sunshine and music through their ears in lieu of poptarts.
So i’ve managed to fuck up my wrist through drunken shennanigans somehow, and using the keyboard pad to draw that piss-poor Eiffel Tower felt like rubbing broken glass into my bones. Apologies to the thousands of readers who are here only for the awesome paint art.