
Sunday morning passed in a blur of fucking and fried food. It was completely and utterly unhealthy sustenance, but at some point in the night Marie and I had had a sleepy conversation about things we missed about home—and an English breakfast was one of them. I’d resolved to make one when we got up—which was closer to lunchtime than breakfast time.
I didn’t have all of the essential ingredients in my fridge, unfortunately—it seemed black pudding was elusive in L.A.—but I did a damn good job of the bacon, eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms, fried bread, sausages and baked beans. Marie was in charge of making us each a mug of English breakfast tea while I was working my culinary magic—or at least it smelled like magic.
When we finally sat at the table, me in shorts and a t-shirt, Marie in last night’s dress, we shared an excited grin before tucking in. “Oh my God,” Marie said, after chewing and swallowing a mouthful of food, “that is so good. I think we may have made a mistake here. After eating this, we’ll be booking the next flights home!”
I laughed. “I know what you mean. The bacon and sausages aren’t quite what we’d get in England, but they’ll do in a pinch. At some point I’ll find one of those supermarkets that sells proper British food.”
“Oh yeah!” Marie said, waving her fork around excitedly. “You’ll have to let me know when you find one. I haven’t had a bar of proper Cadbury’s chocolate in far too long! Like six days or something. The stuff they have over here just doesn’t taste the same. It’s a different recipe or something.”
“Oh you’re a chocoholic, are you?” It suddenly occurred to me how little I really knew about her and I resolved to try to rectify that.
“Not just chocolate. Pretty much anything sweet. I have a real sweet tooth.”
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Happy Reading,
Lucy x


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It’s time for another Sunday Snog. I’m recycling this one from a while back, but with good reason. 
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