Thursday, August 19, 2004
A guide to breakfasts.
I was amazed to hear that a friend of mine thought I had solid food for breakfast, and even more surprised to hear he didn’t know what a *’s breakfast is. So for the record, and as a service to the greater internet public, here is the definitive list of what counts as breakfast, and what it’s called.
A *’s breakfast: a coffee and a cigarette
A cheap *’s breakfast: a coke and a cigarette
A cheap tacky *’s breakfast: a coke, which (s)he drinks first, breaks the can in half and uses the half can as an ashtray
A fat cheap tacky *’s breakfast: as above, but with a diet coke
A clubbers breakfast: a Redbull and a chocolate bar
A hungry clubbers breakfast: as above but the chocolate bar will be king sized.
A fresh-faced French breakfast: a croissant and juice (must be eaten after 9 am)
A regular French breakfast: croissant and coffee
A busy Frenchman’s Breakfast: coffee or juice (no food)
A builder’s breakfast: a Sausage, some rashers of bacon, fried egg, baked beans
A fat builder’s breakfast: as above, but more sausages
A heart attack breakfast: as above but more of everything, eaten daily
A bourgeois English breakfast: as above once a month, using range eggs (scrambled instead of fried) and organic sausages
A pretentious bourgeois English breakfast: as above, but using duck eggs for the scrambled eggs.
A gay man’s dream breakfast: sex followed by any of the above
My breakfast this morning? ….. that would be telling.
Posted by ThatP @ 07:44 PM GMT [Link] [78 comments]
Saturday, August 7, 2004
ThatP thanks Ann Wells for writing this:
My brother in law opened the bottom drawer of my sister`s bureau and lifted out a tissue wrapped package.
"This," he said , "is not a slip. This is lingerie." He discarded the tissue and handed me the slip. It was exquisite with an astronomical figure on it still attached.
"Jan bought this the first time we went to New York, at least 8 or 9 years ago. She never wore it. She was saving it for a special occasion. Well I guess this is the occasion." He took the slip from me and put it on the bed with the other clothes we were taking to the undertaker.
His hands lingered on the soft material for a moment, then he slammed the drawer shut and turned to me:
“Don`t ever save anything for a special occasion. Every day you`re alive is a special occasion." I remembered those words through the funeral and the days that followed when I helped him and my niece attend to all the sad duties that follow an unexpected death. I thought about them in the car returning to London from the south west where my sister`s family lives. I thought about all the things that she hadn`t seen or heard or done. I thought about the things that she had done without realising that they were special. I`m still thinking about his words, and they`ve changed my life.
I`m reading more and dusting less. I`m sitting on the deck and admiring the view without fussing about the weeds in the garden. I`m spending more time with my family and friends and less time in Soho.
Whenever possible, life should be a pattern of experience to savour, not endure.
I`m trying to recognise these moments now and cherish them. I`m not saving anything; I use my good china and crystal for every special event such as losing a pound, getting the sink unblocked, or when the tube’s on time. I wear my good trousers to the supermarket if I like. My theory is if I look prosperous, I can shell out £28.49 for one small bag of groceries without wincing. I`m not saving my good aftershave for special parties; clerks in hardware stores and cashiers in banks have noses that function as well as my party-going friends.
"Someday" and "One of these days" are losing grip on my vocabulary. If its worth seeing or hearing or doing, I want to see and hear and experience it now.
I`m not sure what my sister would`ve done had she known that she wouldn`t be here for the tomorrow we all take for granted. I think she would have called family members and a few close friends. She might have called a few former friends to apologise and mend fences for past squabbles. I like to think she would have gone out for a Chinese dinner, her favourite food.
I`m guessing - I`ll never know. It`s those little things left undone that would make me angry if I knew that my hours were limited. Angry because I put off seeing good friends whom I was going to get In touch with - someday. Angry because I hadn`t written certain letters that I intended to write - one of these days. Angry and sorry that I didn`t tell my family and friends often enough how much I truly love them.
I`m trying very hard not to put off, hold back or save anything that would add laughter and lustre to our lives. And every morning when I open my eyes, I tell myself that it is special. Every day, every minute, every breath truly is a gift, that’s why its called the present.
Posted by ThatP @ 02:08 PM GMT [Link] [8 comments]
