I want my lunch

[desperance]

I have planned my lunch. I am going to heap mayonnaise (yes, yes, I make my own; yes, it is stiff enough to heap) and sweet'n'crunchy saladstuff on a thick slice of really good granary bread. I am going to fry the best black pudding in Newcastle in butter until crisp; I am going to fry cubes of apple in the same butter until soft. They will sit atop the assemblage. Then, over all, I am going to break a lightly-poached organic free-range fetishistic egg; I am going to top everything with another slice of granary; and then I am going to eat it, two-handed and messily, while fighting cats off with my feet.

It's going to be amazing.

This, largely, is how I have passed my morning: conceiving, plotting and planning my lunch. Live to eat, that's what I say.