I had to run out with no time for breakfast again this morning; and I could so murder a fry-up and copious cups of hot, strong, extra sweet tea right now -- if there's one thing I miss about staying in the UK for any length of time, it's the ready availability of the right kind of bacon rashers. Because although I may be able to get the mushrooms, the tomatoes, the eggs and the sausages (not proper bangers, of course, but something not too far removed from them), as well as the Heinz baked beans and the fried bread, and even some blackpudding on occasion, try as I might, I can never find the streaky bacon I crave. In Holland, bacon comes in wispy thin, see-through slices, and that simply won't do. Throw it in the pan, there's nothing remaining!
Oh well, I suppose I can go down to the canteen in half an hour, and get a bap and a watery soup instead.