Holidays demand lazy lie-ins, followed by a leisurely breakfast. A breakfast so late in the day that it almost qualifies as brunch.
Prise open one eye, move slowly. Relish the crisp, cotton sheets. Linger in your PJ’s, flick on the kettle. Brew your tea for a full two minutes, until it’s the colour of rich mahogany. Then drink it in bed. Lovely.
When you’ve finally mustered the motivation, you shower – for a long time, enjoying the novelty of using a shower wash that smells so different to home. Then, you follow the alluring scent of freshly baked croissants, plodding down the wooden stairs in search of breakfast.
You’re told to make yourself at home, so you take a seat by the window and settle in. Pore over the menu, unhurried, and select something you’d never cook at home. A laid-back dish to match your loosey-goosey mood. Poached eggs, avocado, sourdough toast.
Having someone cook for you feels like luxury. You gaze out of the window at the life happening out there. At the busy people rushing off to work – whilst you just sit. Sit. Gifted a moment to do but sit.
Nothing to rush for, nothing no place to be. It feels spectacular to have an empty agenda, A day that belongs to you. Footloose & fancy-free.
Smell the coffee before you sip. Take pleasure in poking your egg and watch the orange yolk dribble slowly down your toast.
As well as feeling full of fruit & pastries, (and sufficiently caffeinated) you also feel full of gratitude. Who knew breakfast could be so pleasurable?