Now, when you live alone, this involves more than having Jeeves or a nice lady in a frilly cap coming in and opening the curtains and presenting a nice cup of tea.
It's about getting up, going downstairs, feeding the cats, poaching the lovely freerange egg, making the toast, fixing the coffee, arranging the tray, then staggering back up with all this, cats hindering at every point.
Then comes the logistical challenge of getting into the bed with the contents of the tray intact, and then the eating part is pretty easy. Critical readers will note that the bread is, shock, horror, bought bread! which shows how weak I've been ran out of bread, couldn't bake more, son provided slices of whole wheat to tide me over.
Also very luxurious on a sunny day with the cherry blossom, what's left of it, blooming outside.
And, though you can't see her, a myrtle warbler breakfasting on the blossoms out there. I guess it's either pollen or minute insects, rather than poached egg on toast. To each her own. Chacune a son gout, no accents, bring your own. I gave the feminine form as a default..don't tell me breakfast isn't political!
Good news about prospective tenant for next door: single middle aged lady with cat. This sounds like someone who's unlikely to replace the former occupants' blasting home entertainment unit, yay. Well, we'll see!