A late breakfast (Rousse)

A dozen pretty coloured bags filled to the brim with bedding plants lined the hall. “Great”, I thought, “He’s going to smarten up the garden”.

The kitchen table, however, was a more puzzling sight. What were all these mounds of sultanas and raisins?

While I pondered their purpose I left the fried eggs to burn the pan. Then the toast went up in flames, melting the pink plastic handle of the scissors that had fallen into one of the slots of the toaster. Breakfast would be a little later than usual this morning.

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