I was feeling slightly rough this morning. Perhaps something to do with too much Guinness and some bizarre shooters containing (I think) Amaretto and Baileys.
Tea and marmite on toast provided temporary relief. Likewise for a shower and a shot of espresso. But both were short lived and for a while I thought bed was the only way to go.
In a final effort to fight off the ill, I thought that something vaguely greasy, eggy and fried might do the trick. Remembering there was still some pork cheek leftover as well as a small finger of cheddar, an omelette seemed the logical conclusion.
It’s not often eggs come with surprise messages from one's girlfriend (or boyfriend) but today mine did:
And that, more than anything else, made me feel better.
Mind you, the omelette helped, as well.