I’m in my local Portuguese café, delaying ordering my breakfast after a woman rolls her sleeves up like a mechanic about to go to work on a car, revealing Popeye-esque forearms, coated in thick black hair. If I wasn’t trying to get a deposit together to put down on a flat, I’d give her a hundred quid to cover up those arms. As soon as she leaves, I immediately order my full English.
The thing about your breakfast arriving is that hungry people still waiting for their orders keep glancing over. It'll soon become apparent to these breakfast voyeurs that I'm saving the yolk of my poached eggs til last. I’m a yolk teaser. It heightens the anticipation. My entire day today is constructed around what this yolk is going to taste like.
As I work my way through what today is a below par breakfast, my excitement is almost shattered by a man emerging from the loo and coughing in my direction without covering his mouth. I didn’t even hear the tap running after he emerged from the gents. SW8. This is how it is here.
I eventually work my way to the yolk. The sausage, the three tomatoes, the bacon, they’re all gone. It’s just me, the two yolks and some Portuguese toast left. A threesome.
I took confident mouthfuls, helped by the cafe being as sparsely populated as a poorly attended Europa League tie. The question is, can I eat this confidently on the big stage? I still have major reservations.
Piercing the yolk, is I think, not too dissimilar from unclipping a woman's bra strap. You do it gently. There’s no need to go crazy. You don’t want the yolk running all over the place. You want a controlled spillage that you can mop up with your bread quickly and effectively. Similarly, when you remove a bra, you don’t do so at breakneck speed, particularly if they’re a buxom lass. Large tits falling out of a bra is the bungee jump of the bedroom world. It’s not a great look. But to remove a bra slowly and watch large breasts slip out in pseudo slow-mo is a quality look and one to savour.
I have a history of relationships ending not long after buying girlfriends underwear. A girl walking out on me after being given underwear from Argos Direct some years ago I understand and accept, but I did progress to Bravissimo last year, and the outcome was no different.
Two mouth spillages aside, I ate well. I took confident mouthfuls, helped by the cafe being as sparsely populated as a poorly attended Europa League tie. The question is, can I eat this confidently on the big stage? I still have major reservations.
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