The Scrambled Egg Deficiency

d and I rose today as 'two rogues with but a single thought' - the need for more scrambled egg in our immediate future.

We went to one local cafe that never usually opens before 10.30. Having slept in, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to patronise them.

"Scrambled egg on toast please," I beamed at them, sitting down.
"And I'll have scrambled eggs and ham," said d, double-beaming.

"Sorry," said the waitress, who clearly wasn't. "Don' do scramble. Do fried. Tha' alright is it?"
"Ah," we said. "Not really. Got a scrambled egg...thing...going on. You don't do any scrambling?"
"Noooo," said the girl, disinterestedly. "Don' do scramble. On'y fried, innit?"
We discussed it breifly, then left. Stopped in at another cafe on the way up the town. Popped our heads in. d popped her head right back out again double-quick. I sniffed. Ah. The nauseating reek of old grease was thick enough to stain your clothes. Our quest went on...
"What about here?" I asked, spotting a place we'd never actually seen open before.
"Sure, let's give it a go," said d. We went in. An old lady with one of those shopping trolleys on wheels was trying to get out, and clearly hadn't heard of the concept of sideways as a way of making progress. We backed off to let her out. I peered in. The place had four or five tables in tight formation, and all of them were already overfilled with hot Welsh bodies, gearing up for a morning's shopping and gossip and general disapproval of the world.
"Biddysville," I reported. "Let's press on..."
We finally walked up tot he top of the town, to a "Weatherspoons" pub. They didn't have scrambled eggs on their menu, but d spoke to them sweetly in her beautiful, ingratiatingly polite American accent ("I don't have an accent!" "Yes dear...") and they agreed to scramble for us.

When it came, the scrambling was thankfully proficient. The fact that it came on two pieces of white, limp, soggy bread, rather than anything that had seen the right side of a toaster, was by that point a mere bagatelle of irritation.

I looked at my watch when we were done.
"Is it me, or do you feel like we've done a day's work just finding breakfast?" I asked.
"Yeah..." said d. "Let's go home before we have to start thinking about finding lunch in this town..."

The rest of the day has been spent largely just enjoying each other's company - and a couple of seasons of Survivor (yeah, sue me, we're a pair tribe-based 'reality' junkies).

On the aural front, those following the condition of my lugholes with avid interest...should probably get a bit ore of a life, but will be happy to know that I'm not anything like as dizzy today as I've been in recent weeks. Hopefully this means something good is happening, and I may be able to hear, and exercise, and get back to Disappearing, soon...